The wind’s been blowing throughout the night,
even the owl’s been cringing with fright;
There’s nothing on Earth to halt the passage
of moonmen and moonbeams and eagles in flight.
The trees have been screaming, their song often heard;
it’s a whistling tune, but without a word
it shouts of the darkness, the sea and the clouds,
and mystical spirits all covered in shrouds.
The sun rays now streaming, promotion of dreaming;
of lazy day picnics and walks on the shore,
of castles in sand, of children, of a land
where moonmen and moonbeams and eagles may soar.
Copyright: Anthony Leonard Ostheimer (ALO), 12 March 1972