The moon poem

The moon is out,
the moon is out,
the moon is bright and hanging there in the blue sky,
and amidst the clouds scattered here and there,
I wonder at it and with it before me,
there is great inspiration before my eyes,
before my eyes,
and I wonder how it is held there,
how it is held there,
for the weight of it is incredible I should imagine,
and what strength there is,
as the moon is held as if by invisible strings,
invisible strings that hold it so high,
and held up there,
where it fills me with wonder and surprise,
oh, how it beguiles me this other place,
and though it is not much to look at for it is rather bland,
what a wonder it is to stand,
here upon the Earth and come up with plans,
plans for planet colonisation,
now, what could you do with a whole planet,
that has not been decorated yet,
except in shades of grey,
and with only dust leaving it,
uninterestingly dull before me,
but still, I wonder at it,
I wonder at it, and I think of the other planets too,
and it amazes me how they can float so easily,
so easily as apparently in the heavens as they do,
in the heavens as they do.

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