under the harvest moon.

Before this night owl heads to the comfort of her bed, I am reminded of my favorite poem which is much appropriate for the season. Although, according to Wikipedia the real harvest moon made it's appearance back in September. Oh well...


UNDER the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the duskOf the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks youBeautiful,
unanswerable questions.

Carl Sandburg 1878-1967

*sigh*

I love it.