Call the Rising Moon

I heard the red moon shining through my window.

Outside I ran to catch a glimpse.

Mosquitos circled my legs,

Feasting on the flesh.

Ignore them I do,

Feast away I say.

Ahh, a more beautiful sight I’ve never seen.

The rising moon in New Orleans they call it,

Or so I’d like to think.

They say it won’t be heard again until 2033,

35 I’ll be.

No picture I can catch,

No lens is long enough.

To hear it whenever I want I’ll keep it in my mind.