Post & Poetry

Moonlight cuts through the crisp silence,
searching fields forsaken by all but the freshly fallen snow.
Desolate shadows cast by slumbering maples
and the old oak's gnarled limbs dishearten the
search.
The old oak asks, “What do you seek?”
Moonlight whispers, “Ardor, love, and joy.”
“You will not find them here.
The dark night drove them away,
like a leaf skittering across a lonely field.”