Each month we will be featuring a guest writer and this month is Mary-Sue Searles.

DREAMING OF AUGUST MOON By Mary-Sue Searles He dozes on awhile, for now no pain; Then wakens to the cold. The snow remains. What is this warmth he feels? Heat of an August moon, a dream retained In winter when his bones are cancer stained. A warming dream, he smiles, remembering The red-haired girl once loved, the embering Of heated loins once known, One August long ago. A tendering Of young love, though not quite surrendering. Eyes closed in reverie, he sees his bride Arrayed in garments pale, now by his side, Arm shyly linked to his. She cared for him full well, and took in stride His eccentricities; but him denied. Mind wandering to friends, he walks among Them asking, each in turn, "Did I do wrong By keeping of the faith When once I said those vows? You see, I long To see an August moon, sing love's new song." He turns to window cold from ice and snow, And shivers sudden through from head to toe At thought of life gone past. Eyes searching skyward bound to snow below, For any embered spark of moonlight glow. On evening's snow lit lawn, young men so dear Seem ever to remind him of his fear. That war. So many dead. Now close to his own death, he sheds a tear. For boys so long ago, now ever near. Then suddenly he laughs. A horse he saw Come charging down the hill. He stood in awe. Two sailors, one nude girl, Hair streaming, naked thighs without a flaw. Leave's drunken revelry; a war's best law . His children, sons in all, know peace, not war. His mind is now at ease; he'd done that chore, Keeping them safe from harm. Two generations born, he'd ask no more Than that they, too, could live on peaceful shores. He pauses: "Not to laugh, lament or curse, But understand" this death, in Latin verse Repeated in his mind. This journey (not his choice) he must traverse, But not until the end! He was averse. His soul ached, wanting more. He felt a need Of warming August moons, Pan's music reeds, Some time, a woman's touch, To learn the art of love, to taste love's greed. To be at last all inhibitions freed. He found her by her words, and fell in love; Discovered August moons in skies above Where yesterday was snow. Their minds did warmly meld. So, guiltless of Full deeds, but yet infused, they did belove. He nods his head, relaxed, and looks ahead With no remorse or fear. There is no dread Of death, of nothingness. "Those left will know my deeds, and what I've said. I'd nothing change, nor wish to do instead." To be responsible for one's own deeds, Plus love, and loyalty, that is his creed, Philosophy, belief; His legacy to leave. It is his need To teach, to sing this song, to plant this seed. He dozes on awhile, for now no pain, Then wakens to the cold. The snow remains. What is this warmth he feels? Heat of an August moon, a dream attained. What matter winter's cold? Love's warmth sustains.

You can reached the author here.