A Paper Moon

By Annette Wynne

A paper moon, I’ll hang it high
Up in a dark blue paper sky;
Some pretty silvery stars I’ll make—
All for the little lone moon’s sake;
My bed shall be the evening grass,
Where only fairy people pass;
Where no one sees
But the breeze
That hurries lightly through the trees;
The sky I’ll hang above my head,
When I’m undressed to go to bed;
And so, a gypsy child I’ll play
That has no real home to stay.

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