Tonight the moon is a cracker,
with a bite out of it
floating in the night,

and in a week or so
according to the calendar
it will probably look

like a silver football,
and nine, maybe ten days ago
it reminded me of a thin bright claw.

But eventually --
by the end of the month,
I reckon --

it will waste away
to nothing,
nothing but stars in the sky,

and I will have a few nights
to myself,
a little time to rest my jittery pen.

by Billy Collins

Comments (12)

This poem is less about weariness than it is about swearing off men! Still, very well written. (I wonder did she write this in jest?) RIP Dorothy. Your work lives on.
There's little to have but the things I had, There's little to bear but the things I bore. There's nothing to carry and naught to add, And glory to Heaven, I paid the score. excellently composed
She need to scratch a little deeper... bury those claws, Dorothy.
At a heart unclad! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Such a great write by Dorothy Parker...
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