Geese are flying overhead
Flying off to winter bed
Flying off to downy nest.
Summer’s yawning, time to rest.
Squirrels are bouncing here and there
Finding acorns everywhere
Finding velvet moss for bed.
Autumn’s humming, rest your head.
Whales are diving through the seas
Swimming south before they freeze
Swimming, sleeping, spouting sighs.
Winter’s calling, close your eyes.
I will hold you. No more crying
No more bouncing, no more flying
No more shouting, little one.
Snow is near and day is done.
Bunnies cuddle. Grizzlies snore.
Nothing moving anymore
Nothing talking, not a peep.
Autumn loves you, go to sleep.
Rejoice and celebrate the skin
That keeps the veins and muscles in
That keeps the cold and germies out.
That is what skin is all about.
Suppose, when God created skin,
He turned the skin-side outside in
So when you talk to Mrs. Jones
Your eyes meet over fat and bones.
And tissues, blue and white and red,
That stretch from toe to hand to head.
It makes me glad to have a skin
That keeps the outside bone-side in.
Now there are folks who would be mad
If our insides were all they had
To tell all kinds of folks apart.
Perhaps they’d learn to read the heart
Instead of judging from a hue
If that one’s false or this one’s true.
Let’s all join hands and feast our eyes
On skins of every shape and size
Of every tone of gold or white
Of luscious black, of dark or light,
Of every shade that folks come in.
Rejoice and celebrate the skin.
O the man in the moon
Loved a sweet red balloon
Who lived on the shore by the sea.
“Do come nigh! Oh, come near,”
Wooed the moon. “Crimson dear,
Loose your string now and come marry me.”
“Oh balloon red and sweet,”
Cried the clams at her feet,
“Take care, for you weren’t meant to fly.”
But the crimson balloon
Loved the man in the moon
And raced off through the star-sprinkled sky.
“I’m untied now. I’m free,
And I’ll soon marry thee,”
Cried sweet Crimson as faster she leapt.
But her love and the height
Burst her heart in mid-flight.
The moon gathered her fragments and wept.
O the man in the moon
Loves his sweet red balloon.
He sings songs to the sun of her light.
And in autumn, the moon,
Longing for his balloon,
Hovers low and burns red in the night.