2ndwitch

Silver

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So standing high amid the scudding clouds,
Her face serene, both solemn and benign,
The moon casts softly down in silvered shrouds
Her ghostly light, stark shadows then define
This land, the earth, tree clad and with the night
Cloth-ed in grey mist and gossamer coat,
All life is paused, and in the owl's delight
She opens wide her wings in wind borne float.
At eventide the day falls to a close
And the sun sets, glowing orb, in the west,
The day's course run again, as run it must
Until the summer's blooms are blown, the rose
Does dip her head and seek her time of rest
And all the life of day will turn to dust.

Today the prompt was the moon, so I decided to write a sonnet.