Moon Song 

by Mildred Plew Merryman

Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon — 

Over the crinkling sea, 

The moon man flings him a silvered net 

Fashioned of moonbeams three. 

And some folk say when the net lies long 

And the midnight hour is ripe; 

The moon man fishes for some old song 

That fell from a sailor's pipe. 

And some folk say that he fishes the bars 

Down where the dead ships lie, 

Looking for lost little baby stars 

That slid from the slippery sky. 

And the waves roll out and the waves roll in 

And the nodding night wind blows, 

But why the moon man fishes the sea 

Only the moon man knows. 

Zoon, zoon, net of the moon 

Rides on the wrinkling sea; 

Bright is the fret and shining wet, 

Fashioned of moonbeams three. 

And some folk say when the great net gleams 

And the waves are dusky blue, 

The moon man fishes for two little dreams 

He lost when the world was new. 

And some folk say in the late night hours 

While the long fin'shadows slide, 

The moon man fishes for cold sea flowers 

Under the tumbling tide. 

And the waves roll out and the waves roll in 

And the gray gulls dip and dose, 

But why the moon man fishes the sea 

Only the moon man knows. 

Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon — 

Over the crinkling sea, 

The moon man flings him a silvered net 

Fashioned of moonbeams three. 

And some folk say that he follows the flecks 

Down where the last light flows, 

Fishing for two round gold'rimmed "specs" 

That blew from his button4ike nose. 

And some folk say while the salt sea foams 

And the silver net lines snare, 

The moon man fishes for carven combs 

That float from the mermaids' hair. 

And the waves roll out and the waves roll in 

And the nodding night wind blows, 

But why the moon man fishes the sea 

Only the moon man knows.