The Waning

 In the back pasture where

The dog and I wander

The woods are waning 

Like the moon this November



The moon followed me 

From tree to tree


And so I caught each moment

That will not come again


For winter will soon arrive

With rain, snow, ice and wind


And next November's

Waning moon will not find


These gaunt reminders 

Of a woods undone by time


Not all of the trees are dying

Some are just asleep



And a full moon in May

Will find them soon aleaf.


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