Dr. Earl Hackett

When the moon becomes our number one satellite, it'll be a serious business for writers of verses.

There's only one rhyme for satellite, and that's patalite, which means someone interested in the welfare of kneecaps.

I met him on our satellite, oh, list ye while I tell.

He said, I am a patalite, and kneecaps I do sell.

Not very good, really, is it?

Of course, there'll still be the sun, but the rhymes for sun are surprisingly few and very dull, like overdone and run and stun and such like.

But for real good rhymes, give me moon.

Oon is such a lovely syllable.

To demonstrate, I'll now rhyme it 34 times.

Oh, let me give tune to a loving lampoon.

For darling, tis soon we shall walk on the moon before it is strewn by a Yankee platoon with flag and maroon and drum and bassoon and beer and spittoon and TV and cartoon.

Come, let me dragoon you to eat macaroon in a lunar saloon, by a dusty lagoon on a warm afternoon, with no fear of typhoon, or simoon, or monsoon, or raccoon, or baboon, or buffoon, or poltroon, or a Marshall McLoon to upset a pontoon.

I will deck and festoon you with hat and balloon, so sweet and jejune in your space-going shoon, nicely frilled with galoon, and your blouse of gambroon, matching wide pantaloon, all tabs and godroon.

Why the gussets unscroon?

For to spend a doubloon, oh my darling, I swoon.