The Loon
He sat with legs crossed,On that rock by the lake,
In the pale yellow light of the moon.
And the song that flowed out
Of his polished wood flute
Reflected the song of the loon.
The loon song implored,
"Why must love be so cruel?"
The moon smiled at the puzzled refrain,
Then she gently reached down
Through the silver lined clouds,
To tug the loon's heart strings again.
The loon song beseeched,
In a reedy refrain,
The sheer essence of hope in a word.
Though the wind held it's breath,
And the night strained it's ears,
There was no reply to be heard.
The old man then paused
As he lowered his flute,
And he sat there a moment in thought.
For that song pleased him well,
And the offering it seemed,
Was just what the muses had sought.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.