Crescent: ‘I can’t remember anything but how to forget’ – callison

 

crescent moon that lurks around,
all too soon and without sound,
hear, dear children, hear the night,
fear the fading of starlight,
as clouds would billow from the breeze
and blow the moon a song to please
from distant waves on waters high,
the crescent moon that bled them dry
has left us on a desert bed
and kept us froze’ in constant dread
of siren’s song in high-pitched tune,
as some old drunk who toasts the moon
would wade about, his liquor spilt
and justify his constant guilt,
while harvest moons had disappeared,
and all was worse than we had feared,
the crimson red had stained us clean
and left the moon a white unseen,
so dear, dear children, hear this truth:
the moon is rising in your youth.
it pulls and tugs its constant flow
much the same as sea-waves go,
no matter how I seem to plea
it’s left us living, dying free.

 

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