Word Play

Full and blue and blood moons
Harvest, Waning and Waxing,
they all return on some night–
But the last full moon of the year,
the pandemic years,
the beat-us-down-until
we-say, “No more” years,
has us right where we must be:
Humbled, grateful, searching,
eyeing the winter night,
brightened by reflected light,

Still in awe of her beauty
and charmed by the eerie sight.