Under a Blood Moon

Summer’s lush grace turns
to the cool splendor of fall,
windblown leaves scatter in the yard.

A northern wind blows hard
on this Mabon morning,
signals change to come.

The crow sounds its’ rousing cry
at dawn, its black form hunched
on a thin branch.

A kettle sputters to life, she
stirs tea slowly,
burning her throat.

Pumpkins sit grandly on front porches,
crisp ochre and crimson leaves float
to the ground.

A scarf warms her heart,
patient hands gather herbs
to store in earthen bowls.

Her heart beats shrewdly from earned
wisdom, wind tells of change,
she scorns the cold.

The crow takes flight, the boughs quiver,
children crush pumpkins on leaf-strewn streets.

Under the Blood moon of October,
she casts her spell,
beholds the crow on her oak tree.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...