When Moonlight Falls
by Hilda Conkling
When moonlight falls on the water
It is like fingers touching the chords of a harp
on a misty, misty day. When moonlight strikes the water
I cannot get it into my poem;
I only hear the tinkle of ripplings of light.
When I see the water’s fingers
and the moon’s rays intertwined,
I think of all the words I love to hear,
and try to find words white enough for such shining.