Moon On A Spoon
Let’s play.
Tigers have eyelashes.
Crocodiles smile.
The moon is made of cheese.
Shall we pull it down and see?
No? You want to keep it there?
You paint stories on its face?
Share your secrets in its ear?
Without the moon, there is no place for you to land from outer space?
But, sweetheart, I could reach it with the chair!
I could scoop up the moon on a spoon,
while I balance on my witches’ broom.
And place it so gently … right next to you.
It would sweep away bad dreams.
Give sweet kisses on your nose.
You could toss it in the air.
It’d belong to only you.
You are not convinced. That pout is clear.
You are tired of us grown-ups always trying to steer.
Leave you alone, you say. Let you have your moon.
High in the sky, with or without a silver spoon.
Everyone should have the moon, you’re right,
even dinosaurs, unicorns and clowns with drums.
Wait, is that dinosaur on the moon holding a spoon?
I thought dinosaurs had no thumbs.
Oh no, please tell him as quick as you can.
Do not scoop out the moon!
It’s not ice cream or cake.
Eating the moon’s a terrible mistake!
Look up! That was close!
He caught a fright and dropped the spoon.
Let’s leave the moon in peace.
I’ll grab the tub of ice cream.
You draw your best moon face.
Copyright © Beau Barberis | Year Posted 2025
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