The crumbs were all kept
Where the night guard swept
Them to the far side of the moon.

Each crumb to be found
Could be rightly crowned
As a prince of the lunar dunes.

From every proud cake
To humble bread baked
On any planet that you’ve heard

If a crumb should fall
It belonged to all
And this was the stern final word.

So each crumb was starred
For the fine night guard
Who flew in on their gray-green brooms

And swept the whole lot
Into their broad pots
Until full up with baking’s blooms.

Before they could stale
They would pour like hail
Out onto the moon’s sealess coast

And the waves of crumbs
Would swirl and become
New breads for those who need it most.

If you might be one
Who could use a bun
Take one or four, we’ll both be blessed.

So that’s where crumbs go
And now you well know
Why eating I make such a mess.