A Crying Moon...
The moon is calling me tonight.
I hear its rings: its desperate plight,
in the wind's fading howls,
which echoes the passing growls
of a dog with broken legs.
With whimpering, from sorrow it begs
to see no more the pain it sees
when looking down from over trees.
With home in heaven it sees all,
all mother's worries, and children's fall,
all hunger and wars fought for greed.
Sighing, it said one day it will bleed,
and this will end the way of earth,
some will cease and some will rebirth,
but until then it craves the darkest days
when it cannot see man's cruel ways...
Copyright © 2010 Leslie Alexis
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 April 1918 – 27 February 2002)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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