The Moon in June

She peeked between the fingers of clouds
and scattered gold dust through the shadows;
whispered words to the warm wind and
wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.
Morning glories climbing the garden fence
trailed love letters in heart shaped leaves.
They never speak to her or sing their song
but trumpet their colors to the dawn believing
she’s still there but her light has gone.
The veiled brides of June are soon to wed;
trellised arches of flowers for their vows;
pillows of lover’s lace upon their beds
and wreaths of expectation on their brows.
They shed their innocence like moonlight;
soft as whispered promises of love.
When the morning comes, will they be wise?
The moon will not be shining from above.