The Early Spring Sings To the Moon
It's after midnight,and I walk unhurriedly
on a well-lit road flanked by orchids;
a casual squirrel crosses fearfully
as I listen to the soft sounds of crickets,
turning repeatedly to both sides
so curious to know where they hide...
The early spring sings to the moon,
a spotted face looking solemnly happy
while the friendly stars smile on:
to hear the whispers they exchange sweetly;
and before the nightgales retrieve at dawn
in rosy tree tops, they'll be gone...
I spot patches of dark blue,
like the lake below,peaking through
the huge branches of oaks and pine trees;
the soft moon's gleams paint them in silver,
and how lovely they seem in that glimmer,
enough to give them the sembiance of a magical forest
within a sweltering city in need of a cool breeze,
capable of bringing relief from the hazy mist...
The early springs sings to the moon,
the merry notes float on the scented breeze
to reach a distance I cannot achieve;
my contemplation will end soon...
I go past the yellow and purple daffodils;
are they ever tired of standing on their stems,
of giving their pollen to the eager butterflies?
What a joy and beauty they'll take away from us!
The early spring sings to the new moon,
I am a vagrant in this nature's wondrous spectacle;
like life going through short days: bright or dull,
I passing through to live and die soon...
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2005
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