Under the Waning Moon —by The Wandering Bard In the night I wake from reality Slip out under the waning moon Arms reach to the heavens But to grow quite small Fingers stretch, mortal trappings fall My nose hardens and sharpens too Shape-shifting under the waning moon Feathers cover my naked form Purple black, beak charcoal gray I flap my wings and fly away With my flock I join the hunt Seeking out under the waning moon The air is filled with delicious decay A feast!  No cares if man or cow For ‘tis naught but a banquet setting now ‘Til dawn threatens the night Sated fully under the waning moon Into the fleeing night I fly Then seeing a yard familiar to me I land as my feathers begin to flee Return must I to mortal form Sadly humbled under the waning moon I stumble back into my bed Falling back in time to wake Mundane demands, my to soul take I wash the blood from my face Satisfaction strikes under the waning moon Lick my bloody lips Then clean one last blood streak From off of my sometimes beak Glancing skyward to catch a sight So mortal under the waning moon I smile as I smell decaying delight My Raven soul shrieks And then sleeps until night Sleeping sound under the waning moon Copyright © 2001 Daryl L. Chambers, Jr, "The Wandering Bard." Page last updated 8 May 2006 Background by Daryl L. Chambers, Jr. &  Míchealín Daugherty Ireland's OWN Logo by Míchealín Daugherty Copyright © 2006 Ireland's OWN. All Rights Reserved.