Last Morning...

My footsteps follow hoof prints in the snow
     shining black as they disappear into the distance
No need to question, i know which way to go
     in this all too familiar new experience 
  
The last cold morning of the year;
     the misty eyed mistress of the night glows bright
but not warm, each night a different form, changing eternally,
     though we are warned we are never prepared for her beauty

Is this my duty, my post, am i truly the Sentinel;
     recounting the wonder as i lay caught within it's spell?
When i am spinning and not Moon it's hard for me to tell,
     for despite my wonder and amazement,
there is sadness as  i know not which way to turn,
      though i know where my heart lies
Despite all the love and concern i cannot hold up the Sky alone...

My shoulders sag, my step lags, my strength flags
     and flutters disconsolate in the wind
As i begin again, as ever, once again,
     for i cannot think of the Sky
without longing for the Moon...