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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=424116" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Harvest Moon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">the yellow moon, <br>the colour that i could never get right<br>in my art class<br>well who can<br>it is never really yellow<br>and when you add white<br>it loses its luminosity<br>full moon<br>well when it is full<br>it is never round <br>if you look casually at it<br>it bulges at one side<br>with a tiny star twinkling at its side<br>a little child crying to be carried<br>but who cares except the round moon<br>poetic moon as poets would write<br>whether it is or not<br>the little child that would soften their poem<br>never given its recognition<br>lazy bones are always copycats<br>and they get the world messed up<br>with their inaccuracies, self conceitness<br>the moon, <br>the next door amateur witch<br>gives it a dose of evil<br>chanting archaic verses for a love charm, bag of luck<br>and a spirit in the wild<br>the moon that boosts my spirit<br>with its innocent roundness, a softness of a girl's buttock<br>maternal's light, and the ways it slims, fattens, slims, wanes<br>signs itself in and out of the sky</div><div style="margin:10px 0">inspired by</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Harvest Moon<br>The flame-red moon, the harvest moon, <br>Rolls along the hills, gently bouncing, <br>A vast balloon, <br>Till it takes off, and sinks upward<br>To lie on the bottom of the sky, like a gold doubloon.<br>The harvest moon has come, <br>Booming softly through heaven, like a bassoon.<br>And the earth replies all night, like a deep drum.<br>So people can't sleep, <br>So they go out where elms and oak trees keep<br>A kneeling vigil, in a religious hush.<br>The harvest moon has come! <br>And all the moonlit cows and all the sheep<br>Stare up at her petrified, while she swells<br>Filling heaven, as if red hot, and sailing<br>Closer and closer like the end of the world.<br>Till the gold fields of stiff wheat<br>Cry `We are ripe, reap us! ' and the rivers<br>Sweat from the melting hills. <br>Ted Hughes</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Tiong+Chunghoo">John Tiong Chunghoo</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=424116" data-title="The Harvest Moon de John Tiong Chunghoo" data-description="the yellow moon, 
the colour that i could never get right
in my art class
well who can
it is never really yellow
and when you add white
it loses its luminosity
full moon
well when it is full
it is never round 
if you look casually at it
it bulges ..."></div>
</div>
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