A madman or a prophet once said with a cry
The moon’s just an egg, up there in the sky
Laid by our earth all those eons ago
Waiting to hatch, and waiting to go
What sort of a thing a world lays in a shell
Is not ours to see, is not ours to tell
Another world perhaps, all shiny and new
A bright scattered ring, incredible view
Not a world itself but the path unto one
If ore we haul out, ton upon ton
Though if egg it be, and if never it falls
What will we do if it never hatches at all?