With a very, very long spoon,
we could take a scoop of the moon.
Then we’d enjoy a delicious treat,
a taste that can’t be beat.
The moon’s not really made of cheese,
as people in olden days used to believe.
Any astronaut worth their mustard
will tell you the moon is made of custard.
Copyright © 2020 Dave Williams. This poem is in my book, The Dancing Fish.