MOON PHASES

                      Once upon a time I heard
         That the flying moon was a Phoenix bird;
              Thus she sails through windy skies,
              Thus in the willow’s arms she lies;
            Turn to the East or turn to the West
             In many trees she makes her nest.
              When she’s but a pearly thread
             Look among birch leaves overhead;                                  When she dies in yellow smoke
                Look in a thunder-smitten oak;
             But in May when the moon is full,
            Bright as water and white as wool,
              Look for her where she loves to be,
               Asleep in a high magnolia tree.