The Moon

I wanted the moon to fill up the night like a presence we couldn’t ignore, to shine bright as day in the dark quiet air like’s been told in stories of yore. I wanted the harvest moon rising poetically over a hill. But, I got a sliver of somebody’s nail in a vast night-darkened shill. Alas, tis the day and the tale needs a tell there’s something to say & I should though the moonlight last night was not a bit right, but, I can’t speak a lie if I would. So, I’ll tell of the dark and the failing moon too; I’ll focus on darkness instead of the blue, and woodland spirits will dance a sweet jig on the single white shaft of dew. by Annette Gagliardi