In the beaming of the Moon
the stars go on arolling
under his patriarchal eye
A stream, a glade, a shallow reef
they all spread out on yonder
beneath his benign fragile gaze
in fearful harmony and wonder
Nothing could ever break that look
surrounding them, so strictly
Nothing could ever distort the order
regimenting them so thickly
For his stern paternal gaze
is what keeps them in line
willy-nilly, it’s always there
ever controlling their shine
For what would happen without the Moon
in the dark of the endless sky?
What would the twinkling stars do
all alone up above so high?
How could their light reach over it all
with no shepherd there to guide them?
How could they find the way to go
with no sergeant to deride them?
It would be chaos! It would be wild!
There would be no end to it!
How they would dance, jump and cavort
for sure the globe would be too brightly lit!
No no, such things are not to happen
no play or song, no laughter or brightness, ever
The Moon is there as it has always been
Set the clock, turn around, yes forever