THE MOON Fell Down

THE MOON

The moon fell in my garden
At quarter after three,
It landed in the roses
And shouted up to me.

“Come down and help me, woman,
I’ve torn my silver dress.
The stars will soon be looking,
I’m in an awful mess.”

I found my sewing basket
And hurried down the stairs,
The moon sat by the dustbin
With leaves stuck in her hair.

I stitched her silver hem up,
Then gave her tea and cake,
She said, “I must get going
Before the sun’s awake.”

I asked how she got up there.
She gave a little grin,
Then climbed upon my washing line
And grabbed a wooden pin.

The line became a ladder
That reached into the sky,
She climbed above the rooftops
And softly waved goodbye.

The sun came up that morning,
My roses all shone white,
The washing line was covered
In little stars of light.

Nobody quite believed me.
They said it was a dream,
But moon dust filled my slippers
And made the kettle gleam.

So if you hear your roses
Start talking after three,
The moon might need some stitches
And fancy toast and tea.