Bountiful ball

The harvest moon is up
and my stomach does not growl.
There is churning in the earth,
the reaper is due-

But none look when he arrives.

There is the usual warm glow
where a sinister mood once brewed.

Alas, there is no warmth or desire-
I am no longer hungry.
The moon goes on along
shining orange and strong...

at least the grass is getting greener.