Mortar powders the floor,
the wall leaves a chink,
and a water pipe to clink on
to the neighbour cell.
Or should I turn to watch the sky,
hear the torrent rush and roar,
see the moonlight glint on spray
beyond the candle in the window?
Yes. Answer me pale Moon.
Do not change. Throw your light
upon the mystery of those within,
pretend to shed on us eternity.
Some who should know better
say you will last forever.
Imagination says you are blue
It may almost be true.
You shrink and grow, or dip
and think to fool us, by night
return when clouds permit -
you are so far steadfast.
Take what shape you will, but,
to be round with you, Moon,
your face deceives, your Sea
of Immortality is dusty.
And earth eclipsed last night
the yellow light you shed
on those who trust or trusted -
Diana, Hecate, Selene -
pale dames who tottered forth
before the undeceivers
taught us not to trust,
and uncommunicate with you.
But not to challenge their devices,
Shine on with your borrowed light.
Let no cloud pass to dull this place
and cover your pale face.
Let us drink our fill,
O Lady of Misrule
and thank the Lord your mate,
the busy old fool.
©Terry Hodgson2020
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