![[Poetry X Logo]](http://poetryx.com/images/poetryXLogo.gif)
The Moon’s The North Wind’s Cooky
Vachel Lindsay
(What the Little Girl Said) The Moon’s the North Wind’s cooky. He bites it, day by day, Until there’s but a rim of scraps That crumble all away. The South Wind is a baker. He kneads clouds in his den, And bakes a crisp new moon that . . . greedy North . . . Wind . . . eats . . . again!
