Who does the moon talk to up in the sky? All the white sunlight striking his eye. He’s made of sharp cheddar, all by himself What does the moon think of, and how is his health? The moon is so cold, so ashy, so grey So old and so barren, this is the sky way. He hears the wolves howling he’d like to join in says- there goes those humans, ah, killing again. He sees death dealt like sparklers from up in the sky delivered by drones, murder by digital eye-spy He sees autumn and winter and those looking at him his coat every month changes when he fully grins. A loony, a lunar, a loopy loo-loo Moon doesn’t do English though he knows his names too Strawberry, micro, harvest and blue waxing and waning, worm, snow and pink new. How would you like it having no friends? One thing he is proud of from a Christmas time then He lit up the way once for a woman with child and on that first Christmas when a star passed, he smiled.
© John Munnelly