Strawberry Moon adrift in the breeze,
Stumbled and fumbled way up in the trees,
Spilling Strawberry Moon-milk on meadows and streams
Sprinkling the village with Strawberry Dreams.
Strawberry Moon-dreams are pink, green, and white,
And sometimes they’re crimson, but never at night.
Usually they’re happy, but sometimes they’re bad,
And Strawberry nightmares are sadder than sad.
I once had a nightmare of deep crimson red.
I dreamt that a dragon lived under my bed.
It’s eyes were like softballs, it’s teeth were like chalk.
It growled like a steamboat when it wanted to talk.
I told it to leave, and go back whence it came,
But it just coughed politely, and spouted a flame
Of Strawberry Crimson, and Pineapple Gold,
And then had the nerve to complain it was cold.
Ed Asher Briant 