As distant oortic objects iced and black,
But briefly dim our fading star seems old
Slowing at the brink of night its track.
We watch as though some circus catcher's hands
Have gripped it at this dangerous extreme
To swing it back again to our bleak lands,
And waken earth as if from some bad dream.
A glowing summer grows from feeble light,
Each day longer, fuller, than the start
And as our star once more forsakes the night
We count our earthly blessings with new heart.
Like taffy pulled in golden strands we trace
Gravity's keen dance of orbs through space.