Cherished memory of that chill fall night
Teased from anchor by a beckoning breeze
Harvest moon pours out its ancient siren call
Loathe to lift a glass and end the season
Crew find all they need by way of reason
Enchanted eyes abandon charts and compass
The helmsman veers to steer moon’s shining path
A “V” of geese in silent concert overtakes us
Flying low and parting smoothly ‘round our mast
Their fleeting shadows grace the perfect spell that’s cast
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Copyright Deborah McGlauflin, August 2011. All rights reserved.
