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TO A SHOOTING STAR
It wasn't a dream. I beheld you impatient mass
whizz across Old Moon and her glinting
suds,
And In the haste did you go gas!
Asides bringing about a rare mirth,
An utterance could've overwhelmed prickly
buds—
I, not minding the rapidness...
whizz across Old Moon and her glinting
suds,
And In the haste did you go gas!
Asides bringing about a rare mirth,
An utterance could've overwhelmed prickly
buds—
I, not minding the rapidness...
