Gypsies dancing under
A waning moon,
Around a crackling fire.
Tribesmen dancing under
The waning moon,
Hyenas howling into the night.
Huntsmen sit under
The waning moon,
Telling stories of big game,
Lost and found.
Sailors sleep under
The waning moon,
Rocked to sleep
By the lapping waves.
Shepherds watch
Over flocks under
The waning moon,
Keeping them safe.
Miner staring up at
The waning moon,
A memory to take with him
When he returns to
The belly of the Earth.
All men connected by
The waning moon,
By the breath
In their lungs
And the rhythm
Of their hearts.
Gypsies dancing under
The waning moon
Around a crackling fire.
5 comments:
I have always been drawn to the moon, in awe of its control of the tide and our connection as women to its waxing and waning. Lovely poem!
I like poem because its reinforces our togetherness in this world that tries to insist that we're all separate. Beautiful, thoughtful images.
This poem is like the moon - beautiful!
You have captured the feelings of connection SO well. Wonderfully expressed.
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