The Man of the Moon

The Man of the Moon works through the night

From New to Old, through every phase

Setting shooting stars alight

Cool beneath the sun’s hot gaze

Twenty eight long nights, in all

Above the snow and sleet and rain

To row around this blue-green ball

Before it all begins again

If he should find a darkened star,

If he should see one burning low

He keeps a close watch from afar

Moving nearer with each row

He changes bulbs and dusts the tips

Polishes the cratered moon

With lullabies upon his lips

He’s singing morning, night and noon

The moon turns slowly round and round

The home of one important man

East to West without a sound

Just gentle hiss of brush on pan.

Bright white sunlight makes a glow

Upon the moon so we can see

From where we stand far down below

The different shapes the moon can be:

Crescent, gibbous, quarter, full

Darkness all across it’s face

The oceans feel the moon’s soft pull

And breathe and sigh and lift in place.

But the man does not look down

He’s far too busy with his task

To think about our little town

As he slowly rows on past

His thoughts are only of the things

That keep the stars all glowing bright

And all the while, he softly sings

His way across the sky each night.

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