Faint Fuzzies in the Fall
by Ron Robinson
This is not about the things that crawl,
Or on golden stems that adorn the fall,
This is about the ones at night,
far below the Moon's own light,
Most of them refuse to shine,
Bright enough for our eyes to dine,
On the many lights that make them glow,
And makes me interested to know.
What lies within those heavenly shapes,
Round, spiral, or elliptical makes,
The wondrous homes of so many stars,
And maybe worlds as marvelous as ours.
I aim my scope to that feeble light,
In hopes that I may delight,
Of untold worlds I want to explore
The vastness of the heavens to adore.
The smell of autumn in the air,
And running game in the field over there,
But nothing else this night can compare,
To those fuzzy patches in the sky out there.