So many lovely lunar terms
For full moons in our seasons
Hunter, Harvest, Buck, and Worm
With Blue for special reasons
I missed the May Flower orb just gone
A voluminous bloom hid by the storm
It bathed me though before next dawn
Still button bright but blowsy torn
And peering down on rain soaked streets
Saw early birds with thirsty beaks
Had bowed their heads to take their fill
Of moon glazed puddles on the hill
I rarely write in regular meter or even rhyme but perhaps it was an effect from this mesmerizing moon that Carrie has offered up to prompt our Sunday Muse
PoetryPix 
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