my moon marches on

i glide beneath

great towering palms

their arms raised high

to meet the sky

they wait in praise

of the sun who’s not there

gone to bless others

the wind slowly wuthers

i glide beneath

their arms like shutters

the moon flashes above

in luminous stutters

i bask in the glow

of the bright orb

who shines like an angel

with hopscotch hiccups

the palms fly by

like a zoetrope






my moon marches on

in the clear inky sky

this morning she moves me

like a swat at a fly

i’m up with the earlies

those boisterous birds

every one pro verb

after likeminded worms

sweet fragrance of cassia

teases my nose

as the fabled atlassia

lifts my tingling toes

and i look to the moon

she still makes me swoon

like an angel

with hiccups

About Brad Werner

Technical Evangelist
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