I’d snatch the moon from the sky,
And give it to you, its identical eye.
Sure, there’d be no more moon poetry,
No more rushing tides,
Nothing to light the night.
Nothing for Wolf to howl to,
With enemy Lynx sauntering behind in the snow.
Nothing to make Raccoon’s fur silver.
Would you wear the object of a million human wonders
Upon your neck
As a gift from me?
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