Laying Down the Vintage
by cricketjeff on January 22, 2011. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
When the Moon first met a poet who was drinking in her light;
And she listened to the magic in the poet’s lovelorn words
As he sung away his sadness to the music of the birds.
Every night he serenaded, every night she learned some more,
Of the story of a lover and the girl he would adore.
Over years the tale adapted to reflect the new-found love,
Of a lone romantic poet and his goddess high above;
He would sing and she would listen, while she wrapped him in her beams
And his words became the language that we listen to in dreams.
Though the Moon is everlasting lowly poets come and go;
And in time she lost her lover and his music far below.
But she swore she’d not forget him so she fashioned him a shrine
And the clearing’s now a garden where the Moon pours out her wine.