Jelly Fish, Moons and Turkeys

I am turning in to a jelly fish. O dear.

To close, a poem in free-verse:

Sometimes, when the night is bright, the moon is a turkey.
It is then that the black porridge eats a glow.
Yet the night is sweet: the chirping crickets remind me of me sojourn at Volos.
Where the whitewashed walls glimmer coolly in the moonlight.
Yet the feathered moon of discovery
Makes me want to circumnavigate its crated land: so I do.
Ich kann die fliegende moeven hoeren, wereint ihr schwimmen im die klare luft.
The skies call out to them, and they heed their callers,
As the stars knell and the clouds stickily part.
"O ye gulls! Why can not I fly with ye, that all below is darkened?
"The inky, unanimously sunless skies fill my void with nought.
"Yet on ye go, like cheese." Like cheese....
I reminisce as I gallop down the hill: the cheese in front, the chasers behind, the rock strewn grass below and the gulls above. Gulls....
The moon glistens once more.