Under The Harvest Moon - Carl Sandburg

I have this posted in my cubicle. Every time I read it, I envision it. I think it's great. I chose it as my first poem for Carl S.

Under the Harvest Moon
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.