Out on the wrinkling sea,
The moon man casts his silvery net
Fashioned from moon beams three.
And some folk say when the net lies long
And the midnight hour is ripe,
The moon man cast the sailing songs
That fall from the seaman's pipe.
And some folk say that he fishes the bars
Down where the dead ships lie,
Looking for lost little baby stars
That slide from the slippery sky.
And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the nodding night wind blows,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.
Zoon, zoon, net of the moon
Rides on the wrinkling sea;
Bright is the fret and shining wet,
Fashioned from moonbeams three.
And some folk say in the late night hours
While the long fin shadows slide,
The moon man fishes for cold sea flowers
Under the tumbling tide.
And some folk say when the great net gleams
And the waves are dusky blue,
The moon man fishes for two little dreams
That he lost when the world was new.
And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the gray gulls dip and doze,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.
Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon,
Out on the wrinkling sea,
The moon man casts his silvery net
Fashioned from moon beams three.
And some folk say that he follows the flecks
Down where the last light flows,
Fishing for round gold-rimmed specs
That flew from his button-like nose,
And some folk say while the sea salt foams
And the silver net lines snare,
The moon man cast for the carven combs,
That fall from the mermaids hair.
And the waves roll out and the waves roll in
And the nodding night wind blows,
But why the moon man fishes the sea
Only the moon man knows.
