Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over garden ,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the red ,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
