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Misplaced Childhood MAG
The moon,
made of blue cheese -
or was it green?
It shines above
us.
We shine
below.
A whole new world
up there
the same old one down here.
It seems so close,
yet so distant.
At times I can
reach
out and touch the
surface, dusty.
Then at that
same moment
not even a
rocket could take me
away.
My thoughts soar
above
my mind,
and my feet are implanted in
the grass touched with
tiny dew drops.
Silence falls
over the field
only the echo of crickets,
and the hollowness
of my breathing.
And the cow jumped over
the moon.
Chasing the
fork and the
spoon.
A chance in
a million to see
kitchen utensils
in space.
And a dairy
cow soar above
the clouds.
Moo.
The moon,
It shines above
us.
We shine below.
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