Children Of The Moon

A year has past since I first saw,

my children of the moon.

And from that night so long ago,

each day can't come too soon.

For these wee people wild and free,

hide as the sun doth rose.

To save their skins of purple blue,

from cripsing at the toes.

Yet in the hours in between,

the dusk and dawn they play.

Such fun filled games of merriment,

and sing til break of day.

Though pure of heart their mischief bound,

to joke and prank galore.

Yet they have charm and innocence,

which no one could ignore.

I've been a good boy all year long,

by helping mum and dad.

And so this birthday I do hope,

my wish will make me glad.

To see them dance and play again,

is what I'll wish once more.

'Cos with these folk I long to be,

all rolled up upon the floor.

It's such a shame the sons of men,

clear forests where they play.

For all their magic's not enough,

to grow trees in a day.

I have to try and show their chief,

that we still love this land.

Else man will never see again,

their happy little band.

We've chopped and burned for far too long,

of this you can't deny.

So on bright silver pogo sticks

they'll bound into the sky.

And live on cheese and blueberry juice,

beyond a star or two.

Til men return to harmony,

and natures healed anew.