Gone Is The Moon Poem by James McLain

Bowed and bent has humility finally over come me.
Under what once was is no longer grand.
The wind has caused the flag,
to intertwine with my wispy white beard.

Crows and eagles have come home from former times.
When it was not as it is now we are surrounded beset.
And control of the gate was with which is now closed.

My favorite hill is now but a mound and the river which
once was full of beaver are gone off to I know not where.
Sitting in the garden I am cold,
up the hill comes the wind-swept month.
And as I have every night I rise up to greet the clear night.