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The moon is so gentle and so serene She was made for romance, for love and for dreams The poets have written, for ages, it seems Endless verse to the moon?s silver beams.
God made man, his work of art To live on this earth, not to tear it apart But man made a pinnacle of his worth This man who is naught but a handful of earth.
Science is great, we all agree
If used in the right capacity
For saving life, or war, or a specialty
But please, O please, won?t you let the moon be?
When God made the moon, it was meant to endure
Its span until judgment day, I?m sure
Then, by His power and in His way
God will dispense with the moon on the final day.
What of young lovers who watch the sky And wish on the moon as she drifts by?
And, too, I wonder how we will explain Why there is no moon in Lovers? Lane.
What of the ships that sail the sea?
How dark and gloomy it would be Without the moon to light the way Until the break of another day.
What of the old who sit and wait
To be called by God to the Golden Gate?
They watch for the moon, because it seems She always drops them a handful of dreams.
Folks who live in cities with skyscrapers tall Know little or nothing of the moon at all If they lived on a hill, or a countryside Or rode across a prairie wide Or sailed o?er a bay on a moonlit night I?m sure they would agree I?m right.
I do hope the scientists won?t be smitten About this little poem I?ve written