The Harvest

Set not too quickly, oh dangling moon,
for we need effect of your soothing beams.
Treat the raging apes to some subtle tune
that lulls them into tranquilizing dreams.

With backlit nimbus, set care adrift,
to be marooned on some distant shore
or lodge it tightly in some comet’s rift
that it might not be found… forevermore.

Gild with ease the spheres where music plays.
Such overtures are all too lacking
at our clumsy earthbound soirees
where good taste has, of late, been slacking.

Oh, host that ennead, before you sink,
of every muse that makes mankind think…
far beyond this place of rude distraction
to ponder some Hesperidean satisfaction.

Struck thus, and with cares neatly dispatched...
a mind may, at last, find peace securely latched.