I was taught this poem as a child in the 1950s and have never forgotten it. I have been unable to find who wrote it so maybe it was a family creation, passed down from one generation to the next.
Look at the Moon with its orange glow,
So round and big and oh, so low,
It seems to hang on a nearby tree,
Like a shining apple, meant for me,
I reach out my hand, but hard as I try,
Alas, I can't pluck it, it's far too high.
I was taught this poem as a child in the 1950s and have never forgotten it. I have been unable to find who wrote it so maybe it was a family creation, passed down from one generation to the next.
Look at the Moon with its orange glow,
So round and big and oh, so low,
It seems to hang on a nearby tree,
Like a shining apple, meant for me,
I reach out my hand, but hard as I try,
Alas, I can't pluck it, it's far too high.