By Rick Williams
A crescent moon shone down upon
the frosty countryside.
It bathed the fields in ghostly white,
throwing shadows far and wide.
The air was still; no breezes blew;
There was no trace of sound.
The only noises that were heard:
My footsteps on the ground.
A fine, light frost on everything
was bathed in a bluish glow.
The lunar light lit everything
and sparkled like new snow.
Somewhere out there creatures lived
but nothing moved or stirred.
The cold night sky held naught but moon;
no insect, bat, or bird.
It looked like a torn off fingernail
but its brightness would belie
the fact that it was not complete
and but a sliver in the sky.
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