Mother Moon

Thin blades of grass

tickle my legs

as I sit silently

under the tree


The evening sun set

in the west

and I looked over my shoulder

to the east


Mother moon told me

that the day was ending

and so was the week

and the month as well


Not the year, however

“Such is the nature of the Gregorian Calendar”

I thought to myself

I swatted at the mosquitos


Damn them

those tiny bugs

that carried disease



My dog trotted over

Its leg broken

as it had fell

that morning


I sighed,

mother moon was right,

the day is ending

the dog’s day, that is


I loaded my musket

flame shot out of the barrel

followed by a musket ball

it killed my dog.


It had to be done.

I buried it.

And waited for the next day,

the next week,


the next month.

But not the next year.

Mother Moon

would’ve been displeased with my misunderstanding of the Gregorian Calendar.

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