The Moon Is Old Fashioned

I wonder if it was love or illusion

Or maybe the whiskey’s effect

That motivated Poe on his unparalleled journeys

And Hemingway’s old man, to traverse and reflect

The desire to write of your beauty

And the longing to define your power

Demands the utmost of our duty

And a drink or two alone, after hours

Did your magic inspire those words of affection

Or was it the spirits waiting there in the glass

That wrote those glorious words of reflection

And made lovers dream dreams and take chances

Was it the warm grasp of your glowing

Or the warmth of the swill that inspires

The wonder and joy of your knowing

That readers for ages admire