The moon awakens to my feet

Who gently part the weaving wheat

Ahead, the shattered light of trees

Their branches seem to tug at me

No longer can I glimpse the glow

Of rooftop white with blowing snow

And here, the moon knives through the night

The leaves like puppets in the light

My shoes they stop where pastures end

And ghostly grove meets riverbend

Beyond, there’s only dreams and snow

And silence