As I can bounce a thought from off the moon,
while you are looking, when I know it's you
perhaps you'll sing along, less out of tune;
Sureal, the moon will do what it can do.
All mystic from the past; each witch's spell;
each wizard's charge of magic--candlelight;
some power of one's love; each tolling bell;
rains down from melting pots of lucid night.
And when the moon is full, and in its prowl
escaping where it's been so it can fly,
deep in the forest dark, the wolfmen howl,
and I look for this love to never die.
On one such moment, like we've never known
Reality sets in, you've been alone.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet