Uncle moon stories

And there were no ambulatory organs
Just tapering tail off into the lower air.

Trees wore the upper air of circulation
And snakes in rising hoods of hissing,

Skulls laughed eerily from the earth up.
Ghosts have stories to tell on shoulder

As kings listen to stories to get at truth.
The moon waxed and waned fortnightly.

(A children’s fortnightly magazine called The Moon)