Chilled by the winds of winter,
Clear as a bell, is the sky.
No poet can truly describe it,
Though long and arduously he try.
Millions of stars twinkling brightly
Like diamonds glittering aloft.
Nay--he cannot adequately describe it
Though he tries but once, or yet oft.
That beautiful, full, yellow moon,
A gigantic pearl in the blue.
It's just impossible to describe it
To the satisfaction of me and you.
Each of us has our own thoughts
Of what we think them to be;
And, of the effect they have on our lives,
Through our mind's eye we can see.
Let us pause at this point for a moment
And consider that full, yellow moon;
For some, it's a time of sadness---
For others it brings love's sweet tune.
But, if by chance, you think witchcraft,
Strange forms come into your mind.
Eerie, sinister, yea, even evil;
No peace in your thoughts will you find.
Or, the stars; what sign are we under?
Could these strange forces cast a spell?
We know that all were fashioned by God;
Only he can, the answer, tell.
So, how can a poet describe them
To our satisfaction, though he should try.;
That full, yellow moon, the twinkling stars,
In the wind chilled, wintery sky.
By L. B. Strawn