The Moon

The Moon

The moon calls me and I listen.

Its voice is deep and bright and full of promise, and I hear it.

The moon shines and I see it, it is soft and gentle and yellow and cratered.

The moon see’s me and knows I am watching and it meets my eyes and understands why I weep.

The moon knows me. We are kin. Awake in the night together in peaceful harmony.

The moon is still and will hear your voice too. It pulls and tugs until you are comfortable with yourself. 

The moon is wise and in its wisdom it knows when to speak and when to be still and when to weep with me.

The Moon is happy and shines its bright light and laughs with me when I find joy.

The moon is quiet and dark in the sky and turns it face away.

The moon knows me.

The moon is shy and hides itself. It needs the darkness to make the lightness.

 It knows me.

The moon is peaceful and sends its soft beams to use as a pillow for my tired head. 

The moon is calm it’s face is sweet it always finds the right place to be.

The moon is big and fills the sky and the moon is small and disappears.  

The moon knows me and I know the moon.

The moon calls me and I respond. I know its voice.

The moon turns in it's monthly cycle.

Pulling the tide to and fro, into the world and back out again.

The moon knows me.

Diana, for the Poplar Grove Muse