O Thunder Hay Buck Supermoon,
Illuminating that young buck's antlers,
Light gentle as the velvet points emerging from his brows.

You rise above the horizon,
Your golden glow filling the sky,
A reminder of the power of nature,
And the beauty of the night.

The hay meadows are ready to cut,
The grass is tall and soft,
The air is filled with the sound of moths,
And the smell of night flowers.

But there is a storm brewing,
The air is thick with humidity,
And the sky is dark with clouds.

There is a chance of thunder,
After a hot spell like this,
It is always likely.

But even if it does thunder,
The hay will still be cut,
And the horses' winter will be happy,
With this wild meadow harvest.

So thank you, O Thunder Hay Buck Supermoon,
For your light, and for your hope.
You are a reminder that even in the darkest of times,
There is always beauty to be found.

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