Catching The Moon

Rook


The crow black
Dropped his sack
At my dusty feet

As the sun beat down
On the dying ground
Even the desert had to shy away

A single hooded eye
That told no lie
Pierced my very soul

And a cracked voice spoke
A riddle to evoke
Maybe from a distant dream

“Catch the Moon, my friend
Catch the Moon
Before thine end”.


Β© Pete Hillman 2017

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