One Harvest Moon

It’s 5:30 am.

Mr. Moon is peering through my window.

Wearing his harvest glow like a luminous gem.

Pulling the clouds around himself like a soft collar.

Dipping beyond the tree’s top most branches.

Casting limbs and lingering leaves into dark silhouette.

It’s 6 am.

The tinny child at my side sleeps.

October’s chill shielded by our shared blanket.

Mr. Moon, don’t wake her again.

It’s 6:30 am.

The sky is deepest navy blue.

Mr. Moon, your framing glow is dipping low.

It’s almost time to say goodnight.

My day starts with a sleepy blur.

I can almost hear a murmured purr.

“Goodnight little Mother.”

How can I be upset?

Dressed in his best, yet lonely.

It’s 6:45 am.

Navy turns to dusky blue.

I have almost lost his golden view.

His exit bringing frosty fog that creeps and crawls.

It’s 7 am.

Sky now misty purple.

How I wish he’d come again.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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His Dream

I was a thought
before my birth.
A dream He spun into the mathematics of time.

As the universe floats
in a consciousness beyond
human understanding,

He still dreams of me.
My days.
My ways.

For He loves all His dreams.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Purple Stain

This one shrivelled.
That one plump.
In a rush as I sort the circles.

Pluck a stem,
one is smashed,
mold has grown.
Remove before decay infests
the rest.

Tip toeing through
my morning test of time economy.

Juice runs
purple and sweetness.
Marking the edge of fingerprints.

Box packed
with noon time edibles.
Ready for the day.
Wave goodbye.
The purple stain remains.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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