Moontime Dream by Joe Dees


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I turn from places shadow-filled
And cringe at calling whipporwills
Shun spiders on my windowsill
Mama had a moontime dream.

My crops lie rotting on the hill
For fear makes water of my will
As deep I dread the final chill
Mama had a moontime dream.

Last month she sprang awake and cried
"Next moon my poor man's gonna die!"
Now she just sits...and stares...and sighs
Mama had a moontime dream.

I mourn that I must pass away
But surely I shall die today
And there is nothing more to say
Mama had a moontime dream.

I hide my eyes from our young son.
How could I tell him our time's done?
Now, in the barn, I raise my gun:
Murdered by a moontime dream.