The Nighthawk
The moon shone red as the metal crate
hurdled across the sky
and the nighthawk asked the swallow,
“Do you know what it is to die?”
The swallow flew quick figure eights
and the cylinder shot right on
“The moon has been struck a glancing blow
and his light will soon be gone.”
The nighthawk flew his spiral
around the figure eight,
“I am Apollo’s evening spear
You share the lunar fate.”
The plane shot out of earshot
but the chuckle carried far,
“The moon will dance in darkest death,
and then outshine the stars.”
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- Time must now sit stillA haiku by D.S. Chapman
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- Evening PraiseA poem from Seasons of Thought by D.S. Chapman