Under the Harvest Moon

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft sliver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death,the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful,unanswerable questions.

Carl Sandburg