The Rising of the Moon
by Joyce Reid

Trees are black against the sky;
Silent rivers murmur by.
Land is veiled by darkness deep;
Woods and forests are asleep.

High above the coal black hills
Heaven’s expanse with longing spills
Craving glory in the night,
Sighing, weeping, lacking light.

First a glow and then a sheen
Glowing silver, breathless gleam.
Shining band of liquid white
Over mountains glimmers bright.

The moon upon its quest is hung:
Gaze on earth deprived of sun,
Calm the waves upon the deep,
Watch as nature calmly sleeps.