New Poem : The Coming Of The Buck Moon

The Coming Of The Buck Moon

Slowly, slowly, slowly
the night is being released.

Darkness begins to creep
around the horizon, spreading rumours
of colder months to come.

We pretend not to see the dark,
not to hear its whispers.

We celebrate the midway point
between planting our food
and harvesting it.

We pluck, share and sip honeysuckle
flowers with lovers.

We’re moving out from under
this strawberry moon.

Soon, the buck moon will hang.
Antlers worn by the princes of the forest
will be in full growth and smothered in velvet.

They will bleed in time with the falling of the leaves.



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