Man Mounts On Moon
The visit to Moon passes his Fall
Teeth rust and jews shrink;
I bet he must cuddle his grandsons,
Yet man oft’ runs to mount on Moon.
Brings he soil; here, he broils,
For he trusts his visit to Moon,
Yet doctors claim with hands on brain
That Moon is chaste, and visit’s in vain.
I peep at Moon whenever she blooms
To note if, she shows any signs;
Her hair she twirls, on hips her hands
And dancing and prancing she floats.
Her blinking cheeks, smile at teens,
Twinkling kisses creep through beams;
I bet he must cuddle his grandsons,
Yet man oft’ runs to mount on Moon.
*A 1st Place* in the following contest (judged on Aug. 19, 2020)
Aug. 18, 2020
Strand Completely New (24) ,Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Copyright © Newton Ranaweera | Year Posted 2020
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