The moon was full and pink
She’d had too much to drink
They say the moon ’tis made of cheese
Listen close: it’s made of these:
Promises you’ll never keep
Scars that run too long, too deep
The witch’s laugh, her sprightly cackle
A roving spade, a wormy apple
The rotting stench of rancid pears
Think I’m done? I’m almost there!
The moon is round, the moon is full
Think too hard, you’re back in school
The moon was full, the moon was red
The stars above? Long since…dead
I wish I might, I wish I may
Always have the final say
But pinkish moons that’re full are silly
Don’t believe me? Ask my cousin Billy
And now you may have come to think:
‘Twas Beth alone who had the drink.
Beth Overmyer 