CapeKell

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 that he fishes the bars
  Down where the dead ships lie,
Looking for lost little baby stars
  That slid from the slippery sky.
Zoon, zoon, net of the moon
  Rides on the wrinkling sea;
Bright is the fret and shining wet,
  Fashioned of moonbeams three.
And some folk say when the great net gleams
  And the waves are dusky blue,
The moon man fishes for three little dreams
  He lost when the world was new.
The moon man fishes for carven combs
  That float from the mermaids' hair.
  Only the moon man knows.