Moonlit Night Poem by James Smith

The moon casts it's pale light over sleeping
Houses drawn oddly in unexpected shadows,
Transforming strangely our outlines, seeming
Distorted on the old road that narrows,
Wandering, between darkly silvered birch.
The distant scream of fox or bark of deer,
Diminished softly, echo from the church
Whose stones reflect the sounds from far and near.
In the stillness of fields empty and bleached
The palest hue of colour tints a scene
Aged like some old camera plate reached
From an abandoned shelf and rarely seen.
Yet beneath it's pallor the moon shines strong
Enough to sway the tides over ages long.