On Moonlit Night

Things are too clear on moonlit night;
I can see all (and nothing).
It might as well be day’s harsh light
(My tortoise, Gypsy’s, prowling.)

I much prefer a farmer’s night,
Velvet, black and palpable,
Pricked by blue Orion’s light,
Full beacon for the soul.
(And Gypsy’s unexpected pounce!)