Garden of Poetry

Croon, croon the ancient tune,
The loon-note moan the ancients croon.
You view the song within the moon,
The melody, the meter, the rune.
Croon of lost bloom,
The soon coming doom.
Slowly groan of flesh and bone.
Lowly go and croon alone.
Swoon long and low at nocturnal noon.

~ Daniel F Mitchell