- Books, Literature, and Writing
Old Raccoon Moon
Though Summer's now gone, the cool air's coming on, moon's so high,
Wild geese soon to fly, all fill the evening sky, seeking shelter, by and by.
As crickets chirp, the Bullfrogs ring, Autumns trees, a new look to bring,
Bright reds, golds, to greet the day, now as green melts away, all to sing.
Old Raccoon moon high in the sky, we can't reach you, if we try, all the night long,
Wild creatures of evening's hour, to our eyes, grand sights devour, all to belong.
Shadows dominate, criss-cross the dale, that golden orb does prevail, as in song,
Vibrant light, mirrored there, upon the clouds, each so fair, its reflection so strong.
Is time to chop wood, clear out the hearth, building a first fire, to test its worth,
Stack up the logs, feed the hunting dogs, the new season's about to give birth.
The old rocking chair on the porch swings with the wind, a chilly shiver to send,
Leaves in the trees flutter, as big limbs bend, Fall time's joyfulness, now to begin.
The mocking birds sings in its last salute, returning at dawn to play its fond flute,
Furry creatures, birds, no more to stir, without words, a goodnight to follow suit.
The Raccoon moon swings low over the trail, stars twinkle brightly, uplift the veil,
As by an artist's spell, this scene of delight depicted well, a spirit-filled story to tell.