How sad it be
That the man in the moon
Is alone we see,
So he should feel a loss,
To have no friends,
And no woman waiting,
No cause for ammends,
Nor boy-size ball to toss.
His visage, yet,
Humbly emulates noon.
His smile shines forget,
Emits ethereal gloss,
For what white orb
In Earth or holy Skies
Can resist absorb
God's ambrosaic sauce?
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