Lunaria!

Sweet night air, and long shadow moon,
and northeast bound mystery drone...
does sleep for you come none too soon
in summer darkness...all alone?

To your silence crickets salute
when moonbeams on dry seed pods glow
and lonely owls are heard to hoot
to all the deadpan weeds below.

Lunaria! Now in decline!
Oh how translucent are your pods!
How like angel haloes divine
or gossamer doubloons of the gods!

They pay the way for next year's crop...
when the savage skies of winter drop.