The Moon’s the North Wind’s Cooky

The Moon’s the North Wind’s Cooky by Vachel Lindsay

The Moon’s the North Wind’s cooky.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there’s but a rim of scraps
That crumbles all away.

The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that… greedy…
North… Wind… eats… again!

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The Moon’s the North Wind’s Cooky

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