lunar caustic

Through the distant slanting pine trees
Where the mottled pigeons slumber
Come the silv'red shards of moonlight
From our satellitic neighbour
Lighting up the misted hedgerows
Where the startled glowworms glower
Sailing up into the starfield
Pulling tides with Newton's power
Calibrating glands pineal
Scattering the loonies' wits
Perving through a million curtains
Lightly groping maidens' tits
Now the moon is at her fullest
In her cycle of four weeks
Is she really made of green cheese ?
That's a question for the geeks