Pipes of Wood (poem)

Nights bring the mystery of the stars and moon
The tides of the cosmos flow like the sea
Dreams of love till the dawn breaks soon
The spirits of those who turn in the grave
And the faces of those whose love we crave
Come unbidden in waves, like the sea

Above the mountain rides the silver moon
And golden, reflects upon the indigo sea
And to its light plays the endless tune
Of those who blow on their pipes of wood
As man has played since the first man could
Flow notes like the bobbing of the sea

For aeons, man has watched and worshipped the moon
That she brings forth fruits from the earth and the sea
As she sails the stars like a mercury spoon
The month and the season turn and change
The crops grow golden, and the woods rearrange
Till the bare boughs dream of the sea

The wolf, he stares then howls at the moon.
Sensing the currents that flow from its seas
And with countless ancestors, he will attune
His senses to the smell and the scrape of the earth
The scent of the night and the cycle of re-birth
Till his yellow eyes mist like the sea

Far from man’s cities shines the silver of the moon
On the snow of the Arctic and the desperate sea
Where the Dutch did sail through storm and typhoon
Bringing gold for the king and jewels for the queen
From towns they’d sacked wherever they had been
Now their wood lies rotting ‘neath the sea.

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