How the Man on the Moon Got Stuck There

My gnomes they have a clique you see,
They gather for their mock high tea.
That’s high tea but drunk from stones,
Served up on china made from bones.

And in this crowd made up of gnome,
There came a dwarf that stood alone.
In a dress of chipmunk fur,
and crown of flower and of burr.

That dwarf she stopped to talk to me,
and from my heart she stole the glee.
And then she sent me far away,
Sent me to my moon to stay.
And now my gnomes! They hold no wonder,
Their luster gone and rent asunder.

So here I am upon me knees,
Surrounded by too much green cheese.
This emerald muck between my toes,
The pungent scent that plugs my nose!

The moon so empty truth be told,
And here I’ll stay ’til I am old.

About this entry

Title: How the Man on the Moon Got Stuck There

Published:
11.02.09
Category:
Scraps of Writing