Lantern hanging in the trees,
Full moon overhead,
An orange moon, a bloody moon,
As I buried my dead!
She’d been a lover for many a year,
A friend so true and brave,
But under that bloody moon
I slaved to dig her grave.
A long-handled Cornish shovel
Digging in the night
The lantern swaying in the trees
Casting a ghastly light.
Tears flowed like salty rivers,
As I looked up at that moon,
I’d rather I’d been howling
Than sobbing like a loon.
I dug that grave so deep and wide,
As far as I could go,
And then I went and fetched her
To lay her down below.
I laid her down in that cold earth,
And shovelled in the soil,
And tears fell upon the sod,
As I finished up my toil.
Lantern hanging in the trees,
Full moon looks down scowling
An orange moon, a bloody moon,
I swear I heard it howling!
I placed some stones above her,
And marked it with a log,
And whispered to her, as oft before,
“Lobo. Stay. Good Dog! ”
(7th February 2008)
Res John Burman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bloody-moon/
