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This poem grew out of seeing the sliver of a new moon, suspended in the night sky shortly after sunset. Net time you see such a moon, try reciting this poem out loud to it.
Hail to thee, silver crescent in the sky.
Tell me what you think you are.
Are you the universal sickle --
whetstoned symbol of seasonal harvest,
a harbinger of hope
that reaps the plainest grains,
to feed the famined millions?
Or are you the scimitar of Saladin,
white-hot steel tempered in the algebra of zero....
Tags: moon, crescent, Saladin, Damocles, sickle, scimitar