The large, yellow full moon

Hovers above the horizon,

Suspended in the thick, black velvet sky.

It rises in the bright star-strewn heavens

And turns a rust-red, rimmed with orange.

 

And I stand on my roof-deck

Within the walls of Jerusalem,

Gazing with awe at the wond�rous works,

With wisdom created,

And I whisper praises from psalms to On High.

 

The red-rust round disappears,

And re-emerges, higher still,

As a fat silvery crescent.

It glides slowly across the heavens,

To reappear as a full, silver circle.