The Attic

I was there upon
A four poster there
Mind touseled
I came to bear
Some thoughts from the past
Amid a dash of influenza
And then I came to see in baggage
The memories of truncated souvenirs.
The war years
High moon I said
High moon lighted
High moon eye
To my moon
Far beyond the blue mist
Enveloped lawn
The blanketed night comes on
The champagne is dead and gone
The forest around sensitive sound forest primeval
Through the panes cloud buttermilk
War remains and twisted cross
War refrains lunatic so
High moon I said
High moon lighted
High moon eye
To my moon
Your age will most probably
Carry away the letters enveloped in carrion
Vague unpleasantries of the war
May your son’s progenitorship
Of the state haphazardly help him to carry on
God send your son safe home to you
High Moon
You’re eye
To my moon