Silent Running

So low runs the Strawberry Moon
That I wonder how much she spies
The snakes in the fields of June
Or flowers bearing butterflies
In the sweep of a twilight breeze
Brushing away the throbbing day,
Conveyed to the antipodes
Whereupon a tropical ray
Will heap it's heat atop the frond
That will not wave in northern air,
Too temperate to correspond
With vapors from just anywhere,
Yet, fit to breathe strawberry odes
Up towards Luna's tranquil nodes!