by Sid de Knees

Created on: June 19, 2008   Last Updated: February 09, 2009

When I get chance.

When I can see, old constelations,
on those frosting crispy nights,
I can recall my first moon-kiss,
and wallowing in pure delights,

Where River's join, by Bishop's Glen,
where weeping Willows wash their hair
where I first thought, to ponder you.
I swear the Moon, was made for there.

We can but wish to gayly love,
if we are bound, by whom we are,
but poets, one and all alike,
will make this moon their greatest star.

To pen and dream in pale moon glow,
of love we hold or used to know.

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