Under the umbrella moon
I saw a girl despair
The apple tree – a canopy
Yet missing ’twas the chair
Where could it be; I thought aloud
And those nearby me heard
A head tossed over shoulder
A frown without a word
The unbeknown, the silent voice
Spoke words I dare not write
The page – a blank
The stage – the same
For neither one would fight
Doth the chalkboard speak to them
From the apple tree it grew
The umbrella moon – a sweet perfume
Few acquainted knew
To be the silent voice
That articulates dismay
How on earth we reach this verge
Then slip – and fall away?
sensualism 