When every star
sees its reflection in the snow
and the moon pools golden
on Spring’s remembered lawn,
moonlight doesn’t seem
so far at all.
It’s easy to go back
to the beginning when silence
claims the land
and all those swirling snowflakes
have converged into a blanket
of celestial design.
Moonlight doesn’t seem so far
when the nightingale serenades the night,
when winter trees bend beneath their burden
of jewels and lace and in the solitude
of the mournful wind
a whisper
of a voice not forgotten
is mingled with the sigh of pines.
When every star sees its reflection
in the snow and moonlight pools
golden on the lawn,
moonlight doesn’t seem so far at all.
