IN MY STARS BENEATH THE SNOW

The creatures plot against me; those that live beneath the snow,

They are watching my every move; when I come and go,

The snakes, the rats, the bugs, the mice,

 Fured chipmunks, home to mange and lice,

They all plot my future, and arrange my stars of woe.

WHERE WENT THE MOON?

Was it magic, clouds or too much gin,

That made the moon disappear again,

"Eclipse," said an educated,

Some said gin theory underrated,

Me, I'm glad it's over so I can eat my cold din din.