The Moon

The moon glides way up in the sky. Every night, he goes sailing by, Before he dives into the ocean. Slowly, he gets a little fatter, Growing from a sickle to a platter, So dependable his motion. For dinner, on stars he likes to munch, But he will eat starfish for lunch When he gets the notion. You can always see him after dark, Gently following a graceful arc - Such is his devotion. His chief job in the starry dome above Is to make lovers fall in love, Inspiring deep emotion.