I am never over the moon--
She is my constant companion
On nocturnal ramblings
(Since the dog is occupied with
Matters aromatic).
Sometimes her face is veiled
With clouds of wisp-ered tatters,
Or heavier curtains of moist vapor
Through which she manages to glow
A damp greeting.
And when, once monthly,
she turns her face away as if embarrassed,
I content myself with awaiting
A fresh curvette of light
As she gains her composure
To smile again at her freedom,
And me at the end of a leash.

Labels: moon, poetry

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 10:56:00 PM

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