It was here we turned the coffee cups upside down. And your eyes and the moon swept the valley.
Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker, Comes and whispers to you As a beautiful friend Who remembers.
Poetry is a sequence of dots and dashes, spelling depths, crypts, cross-lights, and moon wisps.
POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
In the night the cabbages catch at the moon, the leaves drip silver, the rows of cabbages are a series of little silver waterfalls in the moon.
The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to.