Cold Moon: a meditation poem for the last night of November

 A Meditation for the Last night of November

Cold Moon

The 

full moon 

winks 

through heavy lidded 

skies tonight,

sailing wild

over the silvered 

bay,

cold and bright

in her 

wintry solitude.

Beneath 

her serene 

gaze

the year is 

long toothed

and

aching in its 

cold November 

bones,

now so ready 

to be

advent

wreathed

again

in warmth.

Huddled hearthward,

we lose 

ourselves

in longing

for that 

kindle quartered 

light

that in its 

time circling

joy

greens the heart 

again, 

makes children 

of us

all,

and promises 

the wild joy

of eternity's 

song

of ever new 

beginning,

bursting into

time,

and heard

by heart's 

expectant ear

in a baby's

first

cry.

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