The moon was full
As I expected, but the night
Was oddly empty.
No breath of breeze
Stirred leaves;
I heard no bird’s tune,
Not even owls.
The buzzing insects
That have brightened
Summer evenings
Since June
Were silent. The rain
That drenched the town
So long this afternoon
Had ceased.
And the moon itself,
Full as it could be,
Hid behind trees,
Nothing but a glow.
Every sound a night should bring
Was gone. And I knew
For me to shout or sing
Would be wrong,
Would be so wrong.
©2016 John I. Blair
No comments:
Post a Comment