In olden days I oft did see,
As over Bogesky hill did rise
A crescent, slender, lighting up
The otherwise darkening evening skies.
 
And folk would say a man was there
Upon that moon and bending o’er.
The weight of heavy broom branch that,
In clasped hand was said he bore.
 
As better schooled we did become,
We knew that this was fairy tale,
The markings that we then could see,
The lunar lines of hill and dale.
 
But now, the legends come alive.
Not broomsticks now they’ve in their hands,
But instruments of science there,
To dig among the satellites sands.
 
Though long ago it seemed remote,
Thus means ambition to fulfill.
Yet humans have kicked up the dust,
On that crescent high o’er Bogesky hill.