Like mine, the moon’s eyelid is droopy.
It too is old and has been around.
We pass our time together without saying a word,
like brothers scything weeds long after dark.
His scythe has caught a little light,
but mine has not.
We still have work ahead, as long as we can see.
~ Ted Kooser, “August.” The Wheeling Year: A Poet’s Field Book
Photo: r2–d2