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