Moon Morgans
MOON MORGANS
On a clear night long about October’s end
When the wind is wailing a dies irae
And your brain befitting the season is newly webbed
With la ronde des lutins (the round of the goblins)
Laughing in eerie chorus
Catch!
Swallow hard!
Then look ye up!
The great golden eye will appear slightly misted and
Flitting much like strange derby-wearing cigar chewing
circus criers
Are these small pot-bellied men with wings
Called by weird mystics “Moon Morgans”
You will hear them sing a burlesque tune
They hover just above mother earth
Though they appear quite close to the lunar apparition
So far away - mind’s eye and ear you know
“Too ra loo ra, pumpkin pie
Too ra loo ra, up in the sky
Too ra loo ra, my oh my
Too ra loo ra, oh how we fly!”
“This is nonsense!” you will say
But of course!
Moon Morgans are ineffably stupid
Copyright © Daver Austin | Year Posted 2010
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