Lunar Lavender

“THERE are strange shadows fostered of the moon,
More numerous than the clear-cut shade of day….
Go forth, when all the leaves whisper of June,
Into the dusk of swooping bats at play;
Or go into that late November dusk
When hills take on the noble lines of death,
And on the air the faint, astringent musk
Of rotting leaves pours vaguely troubling breath..”

- Arthur Davison Ficke

~ by nancybond on 9 November 2008.