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.
Word Play 