Sonnet for the March Full Moon

Hail, lady Moon, rolling over white fields
not yet seeded, not yet weeded nor ploughed.
Diffuse you appear through fog, mist and cloud,
shedding reflected light which Sun annealed.
Daymelt uncovers what twilight frost sealed.
Robins, long observed, now warbles aloud.
Crows stalk through woods like waiters in a crowd:
deliberate and watchful and light of feet.
Lightning-struck ash resembles melting ice…
punky and springy and lousy with holes.
Barn owl patrols his own before-dawn beat.
Earthworms wiggle but soon will pay high price;
heartbeats begin stirring in nest of moles.

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