Child Moon by Carl Sundborg
The child's wonder
At the old moon
Comes back nightly.
She points her finger
To the far silent yellow thing
Shining through the branches
Filtering on the leaves a golden sand,
Crying with her little tongue, "See the moon!"
And in her bed fading to sleep
With babblings of the moon on her little mouth.
You captured it! I just knew you would.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful and perfect poem for this shot...
In my jammies and slippers, down coat and gloves with tripod and camera at 3am. In the back yard then up the drive way to the road and down again. Talking to myself the whole way about what shot to get, stopping occasionally to listen in case I was sharing the woods with something big and furry. You'd have laughed.
ReplyDeleteOh, I did just now... reading this.
ReplyDeleteYou are so precious in jammies and slippers, muttering to yourself and going out where the Wild Things are...