September Full Moon Sonnet

Hail, lady Moon, as dog-summer dwindles,
and heat-wave shatters on strands of thunder.
Spider double-checks her loom and spindles;
her bondaged captives shall good meat render
to her egg-housed daughters when spring returns.
Hawk blunders into a murder of crows,
who drive her from fields, to where maple turns
in swamp: the fetid brook sullenly flows.
Fox paws press into mud along the bank
where ancestor-obeying geese touch down…
yet catamount, unseen, prowls on his flank,
her tawny fur hidden in forest brown.
The tree that stood verdant just yesterday
stands bare tomorrow — wreathed in red today.

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