A silver clock with feathered wings opened a quiet door,
Shiba and Giri slipped through starlight and shore.
Soft as a lullaby, the rocket hummed low,
Carrying two small friends where brave night winds blow.
They floated in a bubble of glass and hush,
While Earth turned below with a ribbon of blush.
Outside, the moon sat like a pale, patient friend,
Waiting for visitors from the world without end.
Onboard were three people with steady, warm eyes,
Holding their work like a lantern that flies.
They read words of comfort and looked at the sea—
A globe of blue stories, both yours and mine and me.
Shiba pressed his nose to the window so round,
Giri curled close and listened to sound:
Voices that spoke of a voyage to learn,
Of maps and machines and when it was time to turn.
They watched as the rocket tipped and then spun,
Past silvered clouds and a pale ribboned sun.
The Earth fell away like a cradle set free,
And the moon drew nearer, a hush on the sea.
At the edge of the dark they turned their small craft,
And for a moment the whole world looked aft.
They read from an old story that felt like a song,
About courage and wonder and helping along.
Shiba sighed softly and counted the lights,
Giri hummed numbers that danced in the night.
The three who were traveling spoke to the Earth,
Sending back pictures of places and worth.
The moon’s quiet face seemed to listen and glow,
Folding the travelers in a soft kind of snow.
No thunder, no hurry—just gentle and slow,
A voyage that taught what we can come to know.
When the rocket turned home with the dawn in its wake,
Shiba and Giri felt something tender and awake.
They tucked the memory into Time’s tiny chest,
A ribbon of stars for a sweet, sleepy rest.
Sleep now, small dreamers, while silver moons glide,
Remember the night when the whole world drew wide.
Be curious, be careful, be gentle and bright—
Let your small hands reach for the wide, kind light.
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