Full Moon and Little Frieda

A cool small evening shrunk to a dog’s bark

and the clank of a bucket –

And you listening.

A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch.

A pail lifted, still and brimming – mirror

To tempt a first star to a tremor.

Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges

with their warm wreaths of breath –

A dark river of blood, many boulders,

Balancing unspilled milk.

‘Moon!’, you cry suddenly, ‘Moon! Moon!’

The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work

That points at him amazed

Ted Hughes (1930 – 1998)

Illustration by Suzanne Siegel

2 thoughts on “Full Moon and Little Frieda

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