The Sun and Moon, with fork and spoon,
Have supper every night
Of moonshine gleams and sunshine beams
To taste each other’s flight.
The Moon will cry, “My tongue! Oh my!
Why is there so much heat?”
“And yours is cold,” the Sun will scold,
“Too cold I cannot eat.”
And so they leave what they perceive
A dinner not done right
And then proceed to go and feed
More thankful appetites.