The night was darkAs the masked bandit
Scrambled around the porch
Seeking the bucket of orbs
One of which was The MOON!
My raccoon thief, moreStealthy than bright, as
Property magicians tend to be,
Had heard from a cricket of
The Lunar Sphere hiding in my pail.
His name might be Alphonse,I guess I shall never know, unless
A pig squeals on him, oink, oink!
All I saw was the aftermath,
Golf balls strewn, container upset.
White plastic whiffles,Nicked Wilson journeymen,
In need of a wash and dry.
One fluorescent orange still there,
Alas my hi-lite moon yellow favorite-