The Quiet Young Moon

Apple night the quiet young moon is dead.
Splash splash on the windowsill shows where she bled.
With wind on the lake the warmth of the land
Will curl and unfurl mist over the sand.
In starlight the child might sleep through the dream.
An owl flies by but nothing is seen.
My murder has happened a long time ago.
See here it was there that I felt the first blow.