-The Perigee of Early Spring-
The moon, she shines,
without favour or disguise, both,
upon the joyous and the bitter sunken eyed.
The weeping pools,
seeping between the corpulent shadows,
tree wrung gargoyles,
hung upon the bough of the midnight queen.
Seldom seen, upon the fleck of cherried air,
heavy in a dream, bare upon the sacred hill,
where the drum and tambourine, beat upon the wind.
'I'll meet you there'! - 'I'll meet you there'! '
Where the golly goblins sprawl,
between the orange scented call; 'There'!
Where your hair, all tangerine,
flounced upon your green eyes, moonstruck,
glared into the fires feckled hue,
and plucked the rosy suckle bare,
to shuck the huckleberry blue.
Dancing on the naked hill,
the parchment and dishevelled quill,
dipped into the inky well, pounced,
between your painted toes, and silver bell,
all crackling groans of an ancient toll;
The swollen dips, the sunken lips.
We learnt it well;
We learnt it well.
The moon, she shines,
without favour or disguise;
The road is long, and the way is dark, without her.
© Richard Michael Parker 2014
