NPM: Under the Harvest Moon

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the grey mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

moon over cemetary
Under the summer roses
When flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.


—Carl Sandburg