Full moon sails high behind
a shroud of cloud tonight.
Though she is aging,
the shroud she lines in silver
is not her own.
I think it is for summer.
It's a mid-August midnight sky
that hides in summer storms.
I watch the dark clouds pick up
a hint of orange from the city lights.
And I know that, all too soon,
those clouds will be full of snow.
Then the warm summer moon will turn icy
as she fling rhinestones and glitter
on the sleeping earth below.
Aug.2006
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem