Above the clouds above the pine
The haloed moon rides high.
Or clouds cavort unseemly while
The moon stands idly by,
Just as it did so long ago.
The moon was just the same.
The same light filtered through the pine,
Whose needles made no claim.
Tonight the wind is just as brisk,
The air is just as cold,
And everything is much the same,
Except that I am old.

This moonlight metaphysics works
While Luna rules the sky,
But everything looks different when
The solar bark sails by.
The philosophe retires indoors
To wrap himself in gloom
And there await the fall of night
When icy winds resume.
Set candles up in every sconce
While servants draw the blinds!
We’ll while away the daylight hours
With songs for simple minds.

As sunrise on the canopy
Sets golden bark aglow
A tranquil chill of morning fills
The silent world below.
A frosty stillness claims the pine,
The dead grass even more,
Each waxy needle lightly rimed,
Each blade white-shagged in hoar.
The springhead froze last night. Today
My winter’s tale is told:
By light of dawn all things have changed,
Except that I am old.

May 29, 2019

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