Sister moon is full, reclining
in the arms of lover, tree.
Beckons languid, at my window,
come sit, sky-clad, at her feet,
breathe my queries from a pure heart.
Answers she will speak to me,
in this chaos known as springtime,
while the winds of change run free.
“There’s no folly in a love with
roots dug deep in honesty.
Though a dry spell lays upon you–
rain will follow, you will see.”
Pen's Ink 