Ode to a....

 Strawberry Moon at Forty-Four Beneath Tzaneen’s velvet sky, a glow, The Strawberry Moon weeps, soft and low. In ‘81, my star was sown, Tonight, its light and loss are known. Full and fleeting, it carves the night, A fleeting orb of rose-gold light. Its beauty aches, a tender wound, The tragedy of a moment’s swoon. Each year turns, like tides that pull, The heart of ‘81, both fierce and full. This moon, it knows the joys I’ve kept, The silent scars where tears have crept. Yet in its glow, I’m born anew, Forty-four, with dreams to pursue. In Tzaneen’s green, I claim this hour, Strawberry Moon, my heart’s own power. No grief alone can dim this flame, For life’s sweet pulse still calls my name. Under this sky, I dance, I soar, Blessed by the moon at forty-four.