A full moon, red and rising,
Drifts between high cloud
Above the Cotswolds.
Its face is stretched and distorted.
What could cause such an effect?
A great pall of smoke drifts over
The village from two bright fires
As red as the moon.
It is a cold night, clear and starlit.
As the moon flies higher and higher
It pales to a delicate pink
Until, at last,
Its usual mournful face
Rides brightly across the sky -
The first full moon of a new year.
Though the strange distortion
Is no longer seen
My mind feels uneasy,
As if this new year,
Its date a cardinal prime number,
Is an ominous and fateful time.