A GIFT

The Moon rises from its daily slumber
Stars in the night to brightly shine
Barn of aged and weathered lumber
Moment, isolated in time

Crisp blowing air of December
A rich and heavy smell of hay
Bodies move, like they remember
In youth, not so innocent play

In our impromptu bedchamber
Heated body’s ignore the chilly air
Clothing, we are unencumbered
To look at your body, so fair

After, our embrace turns somber
For the grim reaper’s gift is through
For with life you are encumbered
Me, a spirit, waiting for you