The Biscuit of the Moon

Reminiscing how I used to denote a biscuit with a moon

As a kid, in the kitchen, making it in a perfectly round shape

Now that my cookie maker is long gone

And I’m grown up

Each day I see the moon

And transgress the souls hidden

A twenty-year-old memory creps up on me

As I had a moon cookie dunk up into my tea

Like it’s swimming inside the foam

Chatting about the thing they don't get to see

And sadness came along hand-in-hand and hugged me

The moon cookie buries memories in my heart

Wicked for everyone, but a biscuit for me

Crafted with love and powdered full

Still today, the moon holds me up

Carries me like a n-ice cream scoop

Hold’s my hand as I cross the road

I smile when I see the moon before dusk

Knowing it’s for me, the souls have sent

Moon’s a little plastic thing, full of air

As the rolled out dough, we forget in the oven

The swelled edges say a lot of it

The sprinkles, pixie dust, and reach far away

Overall it's the goodness that gets me

King of the biscuits — the moon — it has to be said

If you weren’t around, we’d have to settle for sun

Everybody would be glum

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

Splendorous crescents, halves, and fulls

Arrive unbidden in my nightly dreams

And occupy the waking thoughts of days

All love to dunk thee in my cup of tea

Remembering the moon to go and moon to come

At three o’clock and half-past seven

Thou at the misfit spell of tea

Yell's dost pick me up whenever I stumble

For thee, the whole of my life, I’d risk it

For I love the way that cookies crumble

And none shall take my beloved moon biscuits

Maybe the moon isn’t a cookie for you

Or its a doughnut, or an endless wheel of life

But since the world came into being

Moon is a symbol of all the dark places…

we differ to see in bright.

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This article is published elsewhere.