When the moon climbs over the hills beyond

A soft light stirs the blue mist of night.

Through the depth of the islands one can almost see

The shadows from times past take flight.

The soft breeze whispers a sweet song.

Leaves rustle and stir, straining to hear.

An owl commands his subjects, “Be still,”

And I listen for his footsteps so clear.

This Island I pass when the moon lights the way,

Beckons me to its shores, a soft tender plea.

Someone is calling for someone to help.

Could he be waiting patiently for me?

I step to the shore and silently watch.

A tall man in hip boots I behold.

He lifts a felled tree and peers under its bulk,

Then drops it, steps to another and takes hold.

This shadow moves softly through the moon-lit night.

He calls and throws great trees to and fro.

They say he searches for something each night

When the moon aids him with its white glow.

For scores of years, this gentle man has come.

He lost his treasure and many years have passed.

Will he finally rest tonight? Will I hear his joyful sigh?

And I watch as he finds his old launch at last.