Once upon a time I heard <br />That the flying moon was a Phoenix bird; <br />Thus she sails through windy skies, <br />Thus in the willow's arms she lies; <br />Turn to the East or turn to the West <br />In many trees she makes her nest. <br />When she's but a pearly thread <br />Look among birch leaves overhead; <br />When she dies in yellow smoke <br />Look in a thunder-smitten oak; <br />But in May when the moon is full, <br />Bright as water and white as wool, <br />Look for her where she loves to be, <br />Asleep in a high magnolia tree.<br /><br />Elinor Morton Wylie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/phases-of-the-moon/
