And the Moon continued to sleep
as sweetly as never before,
she was in a deep-deep sleep
like a fur coat on the floor,
like a ditch-digger whose every bone
just aches to go to sleep,
like the fresh milk in the jug,
like the honey in a pantry deep;
the Moon just kept on sleeping
like a baby in her mother’s arms,
sleeping like a tramp who finds
a moonlit haystack far from farms.

The Moon was woken finally
by someone whistling merrily
and by the titters of a lass.
But inside the laundry basket
instead of malleable green grass.
“How on earth did I get here?!”
Then she saw through heavy eyelids
a pair of children’s cheeks appear,
a boy and girl embracing her,
they couldn’t have been merrier.

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