Flip the page to a new age: A poem 

I think of the moon 

but not in late June 

In early Feb, I sing its tune 

I was slow to usher in the new age 

But timing must be right to flip the page 

The fish, though, was never my staple or wage 

I can set Aquarius in the sky 

Man was never my friend, ask not why 

And the waterbed is not where I choose to lie 

Let the moon rise, with its air high 

Let the potter not shy, let the fishermen cry 

Let the cat, horse and dog look me in the eye