Beware of the rare blue moon, Rose-Jane!”
Saints bless that woman wi’ listening eyes!
I’ve planted the sweet-briar where she lies.
She stopped my ears an’ she made me wise.
I’m pure as the virgin saints are pure—
Now never a man my pale lips lure.
But once in a blue moon, I’m not sure
That the withered gray woman, wi’ listening eyes,
Didn’t cheat me out of a rare fine prize.
Something calls to me i’ the moon,