THE MOON-SHEEP

The moon seems like a docile sheep,

She pastures while all people sleep;

But sometimes, when she goes astray,

She wanders all alone by day.

Up in the clear blue morning air

We are surprised to see her there,

Grazing in her woolly white,

Waiting the return of night.

When dusk lets down the meadow bars

She greets again her lambs, the stars!