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Terry Grosvenor
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Zoon, Zoon, Cuddle and Croon
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 form 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
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The moon man fishes for cold sea flowers
Under the tumbling tide
And the waves roll out, and the waves roll in
And the grey gulls dip and doze
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 moon beams 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 button-like nose
And some folk say, while the salt sea foams
And the silver net lines snare
The moon man fishes for cavern 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
Based on a poem by Mildred Plew Meigs
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