The Misty Little Moon
She sits there pretty,
She sits there bright,
She shines there like a gem
In the dark night sky.
But hear her utter,
Not a single word.
She sits there very grave,
Always in a pensive mood.
Her tiny little cousin,
Sits by her side.
Too lazy to move,
Never a speech bubble between them in our sight.
Oh, how mysterious,
How mysteriously grave!
But then she must be tired,
For a light road she paved!
She sits there pretty,
She sits there bright,
She shines there like a gem,
In the dark night sky.
The Little Wayside Trees
The old oak sits there,
While the young lemon sits here.
And everywhere I look,
Well I see ‘em everywhere
The fresh tamarind seems,
To light up the whole sky.
When I climb to the top branch,
It’s luxury in disguise.
Better than McDonalds,
Is a mango tree.
Better than KFC,
Is a fragrant frangipane.
It’s better than the best,
Oh, lush greenery.
But best of all is,
My old oak tree.