ADIEU TO THE MOON.

The morning mist rose gently from the lake,
The ebbing moon going on to other climes,
Still showing beauty beyond compare,
Seen by the very few who were awake.

A silence filled the air, just a gentle breeze
Barely rustling the changing leaves
On this autumnal morning to cherish
Through winter’s relentless freeze.

The moon’s reflection made a pattern fair,
Painted silver threads on the blackened lake,
Then the moon-beams kissed the mist
And transformed it into gossamer rare.

I’m glad I was awake before the sun,
Saw the moon bid me adieu in radiant light.
I saw a sight to remember all my days
And prize with other treasures won.

M Ann Margetson Sept 9 1998 ©