Hail, lady Moon, modestly veiled in rain.
Speedwell and wood sorrel glisten with dew,
and scented meadowsweet will yet renew
whatever heart is weary with pain.
Wintergreen wilts, but shin-leaf blooms remain.
Overnight, it seems, bright buttercups grew;
Fields abound with poison ivy and rue;
meadow grasses lie bent where deer have lain.
Yet you with stately dignity roll by,
lending your glow to predator and prey,
burnishing false Solomon’s seal with light.
You silhouette owl, echo vulture’s cry,
and illuminate earth with faerie ray,
enchanting us even when hid from sight.
