Moonlight

The sky feels alive when the moon shines bright,
Limning the trees with white and quicksilver.
It amplifies the grandeur of the night,
Slowly adrift on a star filled river.

Baleful and pale its countenance shimmers,
Oft making the darkness scamper away,
Revealing insects, swift airborne swimmers,
Hiding from night hunters after their prey.

Fleet foragers foray forth and they dance,
From silver gray shadow to branch and leaf.
They skip and dance across pale-lit expanse,
Though some of their dances are dire and brief.

The moon sails along on its merry way,
Sharing silver magic, both fair and fey.

Mick McKellar
June 2024