The moon is made of cheese you know.
Squishy and smelly for it is warm.
The glow is a haze caused by malodor.
Sitting by a warm fire admiring skies above.
Would you have the same affair if truth be known?
Fascination this orb beckons.
Beautiful is it not?
Ignorance tells a tale that has no truth.
Bewilderment possesses and encompasses no grace.
Procuring proof is the only obstacle.
The man in the moon will tell you.
If only ears were open to hear.
Shut out are the sounds of axiom.
Misunderstood the moon is.
Deemed there to protect, collecting collateral.
Connotation conveys a drop of delicacy would prove otherwise.
If only the pallet was imaginably compelled.
Or the proboscis could attain a small essence.
Either would suffice.
Fascination, bouquet, or palatable.
High above the moon mocks about truths and fallacies.
Once again let it be known;
The moon is made of cheese.