By Thomas Page

 

Winter’s first full moon

Cloaked in two faced patronage

Is and not the same. 

 

Spring’s first full moon o’er

Refreshed dusk welcoming dawn

Is and not the same. 

 

Summer’s first full moon

Drenched in sunned atmosphere

Is and not the same.

 

Autumn’s first full moon

Watching the dusk darken deep

Is and not the same. 

 

Some say that the fools

Run rampant under full moons

Is and not the same. 

 

Whatever cooled mel’dy

May harken the waxing moon

Is and not the same

As those history’d

Poets writing to the same

Is and not the same

 

That the chorus may

Repeat the new-old strophes

Is and not the same

 

The same subjects told

With ink as new as the moon

Is and not the same. 

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