Here I stand alone,
Save my friend, the oak tree,
And I am looking up into a sky
Of the deepest midnight blue.
Mother moon reclines
In the velvet softness,
Silver pillows tucked about her head.
Diamond stars are scattered
Around her full body,
Worshipers gathering
Around their goddess
To hear her whispered voice
Carried on the wind.
What secrets does she tell them?
What mysteries are brought to light?
And see how she caresses the earth,
Her long, light fingers
Trailing silver over the land.
Listen to how they speak to her.
The trees clapping their branches,
The leaves whispering in awe.
The tall grass of the fields
Chiding the trees,
Waving back and forth
In the wind, their raspy voice
A sighing shhh...
The breeze shifts the leaves
Of my friend, the oak,
And he whispers to me,
"Listen..."
I close my eyes.
I hear the trees,
The grass.
I hear the soft breath
Of sleeping flowers,
Hear the silken slide
Of clouds across moon.
I hear the whispers of earth
Carried up on moonbeams.
And yes, I hear Mother now,
Singing softly to me,
The bittersweet melody
Of earth in beautiful harmony
With
The voice on the wind.

... Moone

Copyright © Dwareniel Moone