Blame It On the Moon

The shadows caste were long upon the span of empty field, darkness grayed the rye gleanings beneath a Hunter's moon. Purple pansies bruised by an early frost bend blackening in the porch's planter hiding there beneath a Hunter's moon. The farmer's gunshot cracks the air a white tail flees to glen soon the venison with hang on hooks beneath a Hunter's moon. The silo's full of cattle corn, the apple trees picked clean, so bare ring necked geese are on the lake lamenting beneath a Hunter's Moon. All that's secret, haunts the shade, fingering the pods and seeds blanched, washed by the light unwavering beneath a Hunter's Moon.