The Moon's the North Wind's cookie
He bites it, day by day
Until there's but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.
The South Wind is the baker
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that ...
greedy…. North.... Wind ….eats….again!
- ---“What the Little Girl Said"
- Vachel (Nicholas) Lindsay, 1879-1931.