Old Moony Toad
The moon, the ever-unloving moon
has nothing to say, and yet
we write sonnets and odes to it
and hardly one poem to the noble toad.
Gentle endearing creatures they are
and they sing freely and for free
to that uncaring moon.
Would it be too much to ask
for an occasional
midnight mass or requiem
for a deceased old horny toad
that had devoted every nocturnal hour
to sing so lustily to its Luna lit lover?
Would we appreciate the Mona Lisa
if her face resembled a moonscape,
would her beauty go uncaught
or if she had had the odd crater or wart?
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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