Under the Harvest Moon

Tonight is the harvest moon. Unfortunately, the clouds and rain prevent the bright full moon to make any impression on the Eastern Kentucky sky.

Still, every year on this night I am reminded of my favorite poem by Carl Sandberg. When I was twelve, I bought a little pocket book of love poems at a gift shop while on vacation with my family. I suppose even then I was attempting to fuel the hopeless romantic within. Under the Harvest Moon was my favorite of the collection, and I have never forgotten it.


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

Under the summer roses
When the 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.