He caught a close cloud passing by
And forged a mighty spoon;
And scooped in slews of tidbit stars
And gobbled up the moon.

He finished off his tasty meal
With frosted mountain cakes,
And washed all down with pleasant rounds
Of vintage sparkling lakes.

But when the time for breakfast came
A rumbling had begun.
And though he tried, he could not move
To polish off the sun.

From Selected Poems -1967 – 2007 by Hudson Owen. All Rights Reserved.