Oh, what far-westering moon <br />into the early morning winter sky <br />does crowd that sapphire plane <br />in abundant silver light? <br /> <br />What dreams of fragrant flowers <br />or wishes of love, are cast upon <br />sleepers bathed in beams of magic light? <br /> <br />What memories of a primitive place, <br />or tall-masted ships, come a-trickle down <br />like precious jewels on the slumberer? <br /> <br />And have I never danced in the arms of a lover, <br />that the full-lipped moon should touch me so? <br />Or is there enough primitive beast inside me, <br />brought to life by the eternal silvery glow? <br /> <br />I long for the arrival of the near-distant spring, <br />when this same full moon calls me to fly, <br />or to run through the forest with the pack, <br />or to lie simply in the dew-jeweled grass and remember <br />the far-westering moon, awash in a winter sky, <br />accompanying me of a sleepless night. <br /> <br /> 2006<br /><br />Toni Atchison<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-moon-2/
