There is a star that runs very fast,
That goes pulling the moon
Through the tops of the poplars.
It is all in silver,
The tall star:
The moon rolls goldenly along
Out of breath.
Mr. Moon, does he make you hurry?
Moon Song
Hilda Conkling
(1)
Poem topics: breath, silver, fast, star, I love you, I miss you, moon, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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