Mid-Day
I saw the moon at mid-day,
Pale, behind the drifting clouds.
It seemed the day was muted,
As if whispers would be too loud.
I walked out into the desert,
Watching the shadows cast.
Perhaps the moon at mid-day
knows the secrets of the past.
The leaves of change are falling.
Tomorrow’s path is charted.
We see the moon at mid-day,
when the stage's veil is parted.
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2009
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