Harvest Moon in the Fall of Your Life
Harvest moon hangs over the tops of the trees,
shines upon the white lilacs shadowing the wall
by the sea. The night birds call as evening falls.
Boughs of spruce stay green in winter’s cold,
the willow tree weeps as the earth becomes old.
A moonlit night that will never die, memories
in time watched over by God’s loving eyes.
Mist across a nearby brook lies low under
dimming stars fireflies dancing afar. Rain seeps
into the earth as vines cling to ghostly street
lights; in the shroud of silence, souls take a
heavenly flight. Life and death, time and lack
of memory are all lost on youth, breath taken
away, there will only be truth.
©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree
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The Last Chapter 
Very nice. 🙂
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Thank you. E.
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There is something about a harvest moon that is so other-worldly, in part, because its appearance is fleeting. Your poem conveys this sense very well. I particularly like the ending.
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