Staring out the frosted glass,
I ponder there, alone.
The moon, at its fullest, its highest peak,
all I can think of are words.
Words flowing off that fullest moon,
being born from my ink stained pen.
I write those words upon the page;
my heart flowing with the ink.
The soon winter night inspires me.
Staring out the frosted glass:
I glimpse eternity.