© Orla Donoghue

John asks Anne on a date, mentions a night,
She replies “April is not – quite – right”
So much depends on Bill having light.
The right light.

He asks her in May; her reply’s the same,
“When the new moon’s out,
I promise
It’ll be time for us
to go out.”

Determined to find another way,
John asks in June
“Will you have tea – some day?”
“It’s almost time,” is all Anne will say.

When the full moon had waned,
days were still bright,
They had their date in golden sunlight,
Bill sat on her shoulder squawking,
enjoying the light.

Then a freak wind shook him
And he flew out of sight,
She cried for a while but
once the grieving was over,
She was finally free to
date the man before her.