New moon. Crescent moon. Quarter moon, more;
Theobald Packenstance believed the mystic lore.
His heart whispered secrets – twisted, taught, and tight
Of children, monsters, and mystics who danced in the night.
New moon. Crescent moon. Quarter moon light;
Theobald’s dreams kept him sleepless at night.
To journey away, to travel through space
That’s what lit up the young Packenstance face.
New moon. Crescent moon. Quarter moon, more;
Young Theobald had never ventured from home before.
What of mother or sister, or granny Pakenstance?
Would they miss him? Would they sob… or would they revel and dance?
New moon. Crescent moon. Quarter moon, light;
Theobald Packenstance packed his bags Sunday night.
Toothbrush, hair creme, his travel hat, and muff;
The journey would be long. The trip would be rough.
New moon. Crescent moon. Quarter moon, more;
Theobald Packenstance was excited as never before.
He stepped out to the lawn, he looked up at a sky
Then realized slowly… he’d never learned to fly.
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