Distraught Sister Moon,
I see you up there, pacing around,
wringing your hands,
"what to do, what to do, what to do?"
Down below, all hell is breaking loose:
bombings, shootings, drought,
famines, floods, melting icebergs,
wildlife fleeing in terror,
with no where to hide,
dangerous people with bad hair
I see you trying to efface your fullness
quickly, perhaps thinking
if you lessen your roundness
the populace can return to calm
under a slice of moon.
But when were we last calm?
Between the dinosaur era
was there once an age
of hunting and gathering,
feasting and rejoicing,
before My Cave and Your Cave
became issues and clubs started swinging?
By your light, madmen and prophets collide.
By your light, poets seek truth and beauty.
By your light, we dream of a better world.
You have stopped pacing.
You like where this is going.
Okay, hear this:
By the Light of Your Silvery Moon,
on earth we dream, we dream,
we dream of peace.