Poetry Monday :: Get Lost

Get Lost ... ? This sounds like what you say to intruders or other unwanted visitors,. but I'll take another meaning. The literal one. Get Lost. So much gets lost. In my Poetry Monday :: Treasure I wrote about my mother's poem and Abelone, who flew to the moon on a goose. I got an opportunity to ask her, and no, she did not write the poem. It is one her mother, my grandmother, told her and her sisters when they were small. And here the trace ends. Lost.
She remembered enough of the last stanza to jog my memory.
I repeat the whole poem in my faulty translation:

Once there was a woman,
Her name was Abelone
Her only really big wish
was to get up to the moon

She bought herself a goose
with big and mighty wings
Up to the shiny moon
with speed it Lone brings.

While the moon upon them shone
She let out a mighty moan.
She turned around and ran away
And stayed at home until today.

🎵 🎵  - 📔 - 🎵 🎵

Get lost - Forsvind! Det er sådan noget man siger til uønskede gæster og løse hunde. Men det er ikke sådan, jeg vil bruge det her. For to uger siden fortalte jeg om et vers, min mor reciterede for mig.
     Nu har jeg talt med hende, og nej. hun har ikke skrevet det. Hvem, der har, står hen i det uvisse. Det var et af flere, hendes mor, min mormor, reciterede for sine børn da de var små. Så her ender sporet, forsvundet.
     Hun kunne huske nok af det sidste vers til at jeg kunne stykke noget sammen, jeg er ikke sikker på at det er helt rigtigt. Er der nogen, der ved mere, hører jeg gerne fra dem!
Her er så hele digtet:

Der var engang en kone,
hendes navn var Abelone.
Hun ville åh, så gerne
op til månen i det fjerne.

Så købte hun en gås
med store, brede vinger.
Op til den blanke måne
i hast den Lone bringer.

Mens månen på dem lyste, 
og de sad der og nyste.
Så stak hun af og løb sin vej
drog aldrig mer' på den galej.

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Next Monday: Clocks.