December

At the close of every year,
The last full moon will rise,
A culmination of all the wisdom
Learned and shared, a prize

Unlike any other offering,
A rare and precious jewel,
A pearl of perfect symmetry,
To inspire, and later fuel

An inner yearning to thus grow,
In stature, and in kind,
To sprout the seeds of truth
Lying dormant, dark, inside.

A growth that is unique and lasting,
Faith eternal, high on wing,
Flying like the eagle soaring
Up and wide, with a song to sing.

And a harmony bold will echo
All over this great land,
All voices one, and yet isolated,
Spontaneous, and eternally planned.