Sun and Moon
(Two main protagonists a nocturnal creature and a daylight dweller – a wombat and an emu, or a platypus and a kookaburra, wombat and dingo – any combination that takes the artists fancy, as long as they are indigenous. No foxes or cats.)
Sometimes I want to scrunch the sun into a ball
and roll it down the street.
Just let it curl and flip and spin
until it stopped right at your feet.
You’d wear it as a necklace,
Light your room when you should sleep,
Let it warm your heart
And all the sadness that it keeps.
Sometimes I want to take the moon,
tuck it behind your ear,
let it whisper things
only you and I might hear.
I’d watch you after dark,
walking down the street,
sun and moon in your orbit,
what a special treat!
We’d sail away on a boat,
as the romantic do,
through frightfully stormy seas,
the sun, moon, me and you.
We’d pick up a bat, an owl or two,
all of us dance in light and dark,
free from logic’s harsh rules,
our very own little ark.
We’d stop and talk to a sea dragon,
laughing at his fiery leer.
When the sun and moon have your back,
there’s not much that you fear.
The dragon would show us tricks,
no other humans get to see,
just you, I, squids, mermaids,
a gathering out to sea.
Soon we might find an old man,
abandoned on an island.
Under our sun and moon
he’d tell stories quite frightening.
“Get home,” he’d finally insist.
“Leave this life on the run.
“Your Mum and Dad must miss you.
“G’wan! Shoo! You’ve had your fun!”
You would put the sun in pocket,
to save for a rainy day,
let the moon raise big waves
to drag us back across the bay.
Back on shore we’d pull and tug,
get sun and moon back to normal size,
give them both a hug of thanks,
and release them into the sky.
I think these things every day,
as we spin around our planet.
Turn upsides down, insides out,
try not to over-plan it.
So if one day Saturn invites us;
“Hey, come slide along my rings!”,
unsurprised, we’d sail away,
to do amazing things.