They say there is a man in the moon,
How he got stuck in that orb they’ll never know – But I do.
I say that there is a man in our sky.
The stars are the freckles dotting his face,
Gifted to him by his golden eye,
Each dot fading behind a pale blush by morning,
As his glimmering eye guards the day,
So his moonlit eye can rest.
A quiet observer,
He watches over this world,
A dinner table of his entertainment,
Watching the living from day to day.
But by nightfall,
Our man in the moon,
Is but a reflection of himself,
Painted in the glimmering iris.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
They say there is a man in the moon,
How he got stuck in that orb they’ll never know – But I do.
I say that there is a man in our sky.
The stars are the freckles dotting his face,
Gifted to him by his golden eye,
Each dot fading behind a pale blush by morning,
As his glimmering eye guards the day,
So his moonlit eye can rest.
A quiet observer,
He watches over this world,
A dinner table of his entertainment,
Watching the living from day to day.
But by nightfall,
Our man in the moon,
Is but a reflection of himself,
Painted in the glimmering iris.
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