Midnight in frigid air
With the shaggy silhouettes of trees
Standing guard over the moment
The eastern horizon
Discerned only as a darker line in the dark
No moon amid the stars
Only a low tantalizing glow at the edge
Just a little leg to make the pulse race
In this hour between days
Experts calling for snow
As echoed by the chill
A storm heavy and deep
To imprison the world
Within soft thick walls of white
I already knew weather was afoot
The moon had told me on recent eves
Softly ringed above
Whispering to the sailor in me
Tell me more, tell me tonight
Reaching out with these thoughts
To the sacred orb
As smoke rings sent from my pipe
Try to entice her from hiding
Giving into the witching hour
As if I were the stuff of magic
As if my tongue
Held some aboriginal incantation
Rather than wish and fiction
Thus the moon remained coyly
Behind the earth
As my pipe died out
And I relented to the hour and the cold
Because the Spirits always see
Recognizing those weak in conviction
Leaving them to wander in their folly
This is as dark and deep as a moonless night. Love you Pops.
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