You know and you can bet
The moon is a satellite
It never was, never can be a planet
I’ve read it in the geography books
Of my school days
And irrefutably right it looks
in the meager
astronomy
with which my lay mind plays
That it has mountains
rising to its airless sky
It has no snow or rains
Into its enormous lakes
No rivers rush and flow
The dead sphere never wakes
No trees and plants
on its plains ever grow
Its mother is the earth
It hasn’t left her apron string
Since its remote birth
Though it has grown to be
A potent aggressive bully
For all intelligence to see
It smiles and laughs without end
A beauty can be a beast truly!
Rightly do the astrologers inform
“The moon is your ruling planet.”
The tides of my life conform
Every new or full moon night
The rise and fall, the joys and pains
To the depth and the height
From three hundred thousand
The heartless dictator reigns
The bard is a moonchild
Sensitive and born to care
Sharply intuitive, yet lovingly mild
Lifting hands and inspiring voice
Leading, guiding, godly sense
Happy to mourn and rejoice
O fair orbiter, rule if you wish
The universe bows to the
almighty Presence.
Xavier Bage
Thurs, 11Feb 2016.
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