Stones turn to dust and disperse in the Wind
The waning Moon grins and goes on
Day succumbs to Night and Night to Nothing
And trees of steel grow into silvery heavens
Stabbing black Clouds which have wolfed the Sun
In their boughs dead birds sing their song
And the waxing Moon grins and goes on
A Thought knocks listless on a bolted door
While inside all’s passing by
Years drop dead and vanish
And then it is time…
And the waning Moon grins and goes on
And dead birds are still singing their sad little song
(RS 08/2007)