Forty
by Steven M. Hewitt
Forty tonight, I saw
the moon shine coldly like
a snowfall over the land
after day went to its death;
a quiet silver light
that crawled into my soul
and stole my every breath.
If I had known years ago
the things that I know now
I'd have been locked away
and would have spent my nights
staring through iron bars
at this same cold, silver moon.
(c) 1997
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