The Polka Dot Chair

Men Of Progress

Please don't

Blow Up

The Moon

We have

Grown quite

Fond of her.

The tides

Of oceans,

The tides

Of our bodies

Have fallen in love

With her magic.

Push and pull.

Her light

In the night sky,

The hope

In darkness

After foreboding,

The play

Of form and change,

The silver pendant

The ancients

Have passed down.

Leave the moon

To her eternal birth.

Haven't you done enough

To Earth?