As I quietly read my newspaper
	by the window, I turned to look
	out. Night had just swept away
	the day.
	My vision was partly impaired
	by the denuded branches of
	a scraggy tree. A tree not
	yet visited by the wings
	of spring.
	Through the branches sat a
	glorious full moon, yellow
	from its fitful sleep, shining
	a reflective radiance begun
	by the sun.
	Through the tree, I could see
	the placid river, resting in
	the protective darkness of night. 
	Alas, for the jealous moon would 
	not let it succumb to the deep
	roll of sleep.
	Through the scrags of wood, the
	sleepy river echoed the shimmering kiss
	of the moon to the world. And the
	yellow sparkling river, as the moon 
	climbed on in its upward flight, 
	turned to white.

			-Chetan Roy
			5/93