February Poem

Seeking the Moon

She wakes from darkness 

to moonlight’s glow,

peers through windows  

in room after room. 

Where is the moon,

silver all around, yet nowhere

to be found?

Stepping out to bright cold night,

she bends back, almost falling, 

spies the moon at last,

shining cream directly above, 

waiting all the white while, 

just to be seen.

— Barbara Baillet Moran