Moon Song

I will write you a story about the moon.

It will be about the moon in summertime and wintertime,
in pockets and in recipes,
with a face peering down at you between freckles of star shine,
from that big night sky.

Make me some cookies,
chocolate chip, of course,
and we'll dunk them into glasses of moon milk
and eat them sitting out on the deck after dark.

Maybe you'll tell me your tales and maybe I'll share my dreams
and we'll watch as the lingering lightning bugs
fly too high and mix and mingle
and dance with the stars.

We'll wish for wings and invitations to that ball,
and as we stare at the zenith, our heads beginning to spin
while we watch the universe revolve around us,
we will be certain that Galileo was wrong. 

Bring me back Sister!
from the heavens beyond
where we danced on the moon
and listened to the song

of the very still night time summer time yard,
the leaves on the maples and apples and oaks
glistening in the reflected light of the moon
drifting in time along.

Always remember and never forget!
those sights of the moon painted lawn
the shadows of branches and bright silver leaves
and the feel of the night as the day drifts away

Wrap up in knits and love being awake
And alive!  Though
it's late by this time, and the evening is gone.
Still there are wonders and secrets and plans

Who else is awake?  And what are they doing?
And what are we going to do in the morning?
Does it seem that the stars have moved near?
Are these goose bumps that tickle our legs that are bare?

The spell is broken, dear souls,
so drink up the moon milk and finish the crumbs
and head for the bed
though we aren't even tired.

Whisper good nights as we climb up the stairs
navigating the dark hall with ease.
Sleepily we smile as we climb into the
crisp clean and light white summer weight sheets

For the night,

with all low sounds and coolness
and shadows and loveliness,
has met us here and filled our rooms.
And moon beams will cover us as we sleep.