Full-Moon Fever

And, when the moon is full
(And even when it’s not),
I feel its ancient pull
On everything I’ve got.

My conscience loses hold
On all that’s fair and good,
And, as in days of old,
I’m standing in a wood.

And, standing at my side,
The woman of my dreams –
My lover and my bride,
All dressed in golden beams.

And, when I turn to her,
She trembles like a fir.

Photo by Igor Omilaev on Unsplash

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