Tuesday, November 1, 2016

The Moon Wanes

Each night I wait
Minutes later
For the moon to rise
Behind the elm.

It’s waning;
And I tell myself
This too will pass;
It will return.

But as the darkness
As the disk dims,
Dread whelms my mind:

This might be the time
I learn the eons lied,
The time
It really dies.

©2016 John I. Blair

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