Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon--
Over the crinkling sea,
The moon man flings him a silvered net
Fashioned of moonbeams three.
And some folk say when the net lies long
And the midnight hour is ripe;
The moon man fishes for some old song
That fell from a sailor's pipe.
And some folks say that he fishes the bars
Down where the dead ships lie,
Looking for lost little baby stars
That slid 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.
--Mildred Plew Miegs
From: The Tall Book of Fairy Tales