it is almost as if the branches are stretching out to grasp the moon... "Silver disk: Let me call you goddess -- You, with your mirrored face. Tonight, of all nights, your shape is perfect, Your presence sublime. You know it too. You appear before the sun has even set, Glorious without your cloak of night, Gazing down in supreme splendor, To make this dusty world pastoral." do not remember who wrote it, but one of my favourite poems about the moon...
it is almost as if the branches are stretching out to grasp the moon...
ReplyDelete"Silver disk: Let me call you goddess --
You, with your mirrored face.
Tonight, of all nights, your shape is perfect,
Your presence sublime.
You know it too. You appear before the sun has even set,
Glorious without your cloak of night,
Gazing down in supreme splendor,
To make this dusty world pastoral."
do not remember who wrote it, but one of my favourite poems about the moon...