Waxing Moon

By John I. Blair

The waxing moon
Gleams high above the night,
Casting its light on trees, flowers,

The deck and me.
At one a.m. the air is cool,
Birds sleep, flowers hoard

Stores of nectar for morning bees,
Squirrels tuck noses deep in fur.
Among these ancient things

The only novelties
Are me and the boards
I, barefoot, stand upon.

©2017 John I. Blair, 9/9/2017

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