the man in the moon with his lantern askance throws sparks that catch in the trees he strikes up a tune and the stars start to dance and carry on for as long as they please the days come and gone had somewhere to go somewhere that they had to be they steal ‘cross the lawn with lamps burning low the shadows are something to see to drift with the saints barefoot in the grass or whistle all night in the dark it’s only grace dancing the last turned like an offhand remark
