Author Rose Fyleman The moon is like a lamp, The sun is like a fire,The weathercock can see them both; He sits upon the spire. He sits upon the spire High above the ground—I'd like to be a weathercock Turning round and round. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments