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The Moon gave up her fight
Against her mother Earth
One day above Milwaukee,
And there she strayed for good.

For one value of «for good.»

Some say she liked the beer,
Or just the pure Wisconsoness,
But truth to tell, the moon
Forgot the tides that year.

She was watching fishermen.

Threads of morning fog
On peaceful waters sleeping;
Thread the worm on hook.

Douse the worm in wet;
Sink line down to the bobber;
Await the gentle tug.

Or if not sunfish, papermouths, or trouts
The fisherman was after when he went,
The stationary moon moon-eyed the bouts
Twixt lure and all the walleyes he was sent.

Her presence was old news when she
Remembered her duty at last,
And started making months
Mean something again…

Until she took a few days off one week
So, for once, she herself could fish.

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