Under the Harvest Moon
Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
- Carl Sandburg
For a while whenever I read through my large book of Carl Sandburg poems (a birthday gift from Bethany…) I could directly relate to so many of the passages through personal experience. He is an amazing writer…poet…straight and to the point…and so many things are focused around Chicago and Indiana, so it’s even easier to feel like I can jump into the pages.
Or at the very least, he makes me want to be part of the world he created with those words.
