The Moon’s the North Wind’s Cooky (What the Little Girl Said)
by Vachel Lindsay

When does the moon look like a cooky with a big bite out of it?
I wonder who eats the moon-scraps.

What the Little Girl said

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