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Night's winter curtain falls, grey clouds, mink soft,
Above the mantle the moon floats, suspended,
Like some weightless, fluorescent sphere
set free in Eternity,
Sheep in their flocks wind sleepily across the heath,
to seek new shelter, their sleep disturbed.
The Curtain is black, storm torn, hiding the moon
from the chaos of sleet and hail fleetingly,
A restless leaden sea rolls endlessly,
spewing foam shore-ward in anger.
The Curtain lifts, the moon again set free
on her eternal journey,
Shedding ethereal pathways on a timeless sea,
In the everchanging scene of the night. |
