[N.B. This poem is a reaction to Mark Twain's notion that '[w]ar talk by men who have been in a war is always interesting; whereas moon talk by a poet who has not been in the moon is likely to be dull.' (source: Bartlett’s Book of Quotations, p.623 §16) .]

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He might not wear his hat, but soon,
Very soon,
Mark Twain will survey your town,
Plumb your head and call you 'Clown.'

He'll bark 'Who're you to muse on the moon? ',
Chew his wet cigar and choose to frown.

He'll choose to frown for sure.
Half his frowns are half-smiles.
But you get to choose his reason.

Methinks he fears the old ruse of false allure.

Some ears hear how seasons
Whisper to pass the torch.
After a time your eyes see her
Illumed in solar torchlight.

We who've seen such beams
Hit their mark, as stars fling arrows
To glitter our wounded porches,
Have certainly 'been in' the moon.

I hope this deft being-there soon narrows