Another poem that I adored as a child and still do is Moon Song by Mildred Plew Meigs.
Moon song
Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon–
Over the crinkling sea,
The moon man flings him a silvered net
Fashioned of moonbeams three.
And some folk say when the net lies long
And the midnight hour is ripe;
The moon man fishes for some old song
That fell from a sailor's pipe.
And some folk say that he fishes the bars
Down where the dead ships lie,
Looking for lost little baby stars
That slid from the slippery sky.
And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the nodding night wind blows,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.
For me this poem is the mystery of the moon and of the moon's light path on the sea. With any little waves the moon path looks like a net. And again, this is a poem that plays with the sound of the words and the rhymes with moon and sea and waves and water, fashioned into beauty....
Zoon, zoon, net of the moon
Rides on the wrinkling sea;
Bright is the fret and shining wet,
Fashioned of moonbeams three.
And some folk say when the great net gleams
And the waves are dusky blue,
The moon man fishes for two little dreams
He lost when the world was new.
And some folk say in the late night hours,
While the long fin-shadows slide,
The moon man fishes for cold sea flowers
Under the tumbling tide.
And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the gray gulls dip and doze,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.
At church two weeks ago our minister talked about people standing on the shore. Each person sees the moon path leading right towards them and the people on either side appear to be in shadow and the moon path does not appear to lead to them. This is a Unitarian Church and he was talking about the idea of the sacred and about fundamentalism: maybe it is all moon paths. Each group is seeing a clear path to the sacred and wonders why the others are standing in the dark. And each group is right and wrong at the same time.
Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon--
Over the crinkling sea,
The moon man flings him a silvered net
Fashioned of moonbeams three.
And some folk say that he follows the flecks
Down where the last light flows,
Fishing for two round gold-rimmed "specs"
That blew from his button-like nose.
And some folk say while the salt sea foams
And the silver net lines snare,
The moon man fishes for carven combs
That float from the mermaids' hair.
And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the nodding night wind blows,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.
We had The Big Golden Book of Poetry and I also loved the illustration by Gertrude Eliot that went with it. Little mermaids, combs floating from their hair, the moon and his gold spectacles in the depths....
Grundoon and I both loved this poem and both meant to memorize it. I haven't yet.