I've wuntered away all blue eyed bales of hay
and returned with a jacket of crosses.
Upon this good sight a flat pool abides
by a tune of thicket and locket.
Libation to reach and good faith beseech
the moon and her ineffable springs
to come sprawling right near a sweetheart so dear
and teach her of permanent things.
I've messed with the moon. I've messed with my head
and I'm done with the cars and the men.
I'm having fun now. I'm taking my bow
til she tells me to get up again.
Not a gap in the tide,
not a moment too soon,
Comes the call to face up
and stand on the moon.
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