Haze of moonlight on the field,
Cows are lowing soft goodnight;
Hoot owls chortle in delight,
Harvest moon - its magic sealed.
Far below it's blaze of might,
November winds their powers wield
Barren branches refuse to yield,
Their naked arms embrace the light.
Harvest moon, such glorious shield
From harsh winter's coming blight,
Shadows merge with thee this night,
As earth's bustling is stilled.
Soft the hue, such beauteous light,
My loving Maker, oh so skilled,
I stand in frailty, small, yet thrilled,
To share this moment of pure white.
- Jen Christner