Sonnet for September Full Moon

Hail, lady Moon, first sepia then pearl,
spreading pale nimbus across half slate sky.
Evenings like these, great horned owl loves to fly,
as frog chants the drone to grasshopper’s skirl.
Delicate fern leaves start to wilt and curl;
mosquito, grown elderly, soon will die.
Bee drones encase larvae from prying eye,
while stars on their million-year courses whirl,
generating time and pace by spinning.
Whitetails, startled, seek covert in brambles,
bounding away on grass spattered with dew.
Mouse-bitten deer skull, its death’s head grinning,
shows indignity in how life tumbles
over death; nothing cannot be made new.

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