The moonbeam at night
gently shines on a searching mind,
sorrow-filled—one is at a loss
to be still. The soft light
of the moon cannot reveal
the vast landscape
of a sadness hidden;
the forest is moody and distant,
even though the light silently
spreads over the trees,
over all creatures sleeping
but for the swans—
ah, the moonbeam at night
hides the romance of the heart!  Yet
its winsome wings
are woven into the beam
and reach the horizon,
up to the dim stars
of a dark blue sky,
in the beam of the light
touch a restless mind—
beyond the stillness,
beyond the throbbing heart—
but you, dear, in your spacious soul
feel the softness and the cool
of a certain calm,
as thought races over space
towards you,
to ask for the balm
of your gentle heart!



The moonbeam at night
gently shines on a searching mind,
sorrow-filled—one is at a loss
to be still. The soft light
of the moon cannot reveal
the vast landscape
of a sadness hidden;
the forest is moody and distant,
even though the light silently
spreads over the trees,
over all creatures sleeping
but for the swan—
does it ever sleep?
Ah, the moonbeam at night
hides the romance of the heart!  Yet
winsome wings
are woven into the beam
and reach the horizon,
up to the dim stars
of a dark blue sky,
in the beam of the light
touch a restless mind—
beyond the stillness,
beyond the throbbing heart...
but you, dear, in your spacious soul
feel the softness and the cool
of a certain calm,
as thought races
towards you,
to ask for the balm
of your gentle heart!

Rev. March 3, 2020

Poem by EMH