Man in the Moon

These tales are all true,

the stories unfolding under my view

which I tell from my perch in the moon.

I was born to a peddler and a meddler,

two thieving souls united in treasure

stolen from the splendor

of the king’s successor.

Oh, my parents did upset her!

A princess, a duchess, whose justice

was unrighteous but bloodless.

A wave of her wand and curl of her tongue,

as babe I was hurled into the evening sun!

Her aim was misguided

for the spirits were provided

a desire to keep me delighted.

The course of my flight

was changed with all the might

of Fate and Time’s rendezvous

so I flew and flew and flew

right into the moon!

On that great balloon,

I can see many things those with wings

dare not, will not, cannot testify

against the witness that is my eye.

Up high, in my Versailles of the sky,

I attend to most outlandish things:

commanding the fulfilment of surreal dreams,

listening for the goose that sings,

and the laughter it all brings.

From the loft of the night,

I have observed heartbreaking scenes:

the fall of kings and queens,

a fading of the fields of green,

and clashing of war that stings.

I have minded heartwarming scenes:

the birth of machines,

the creation of vaccines,

and the invention of bread and beans.

I am the man in the Moon.

On that great balloon,

I see so many things:

good springs, sad fiends,

and the unbelievable lingerings

that people like to call

myth and folklore.