Bitter sky

 

Twinkle, twinkle someone said
How many stars out there are dead
How many suns have crashed and burned
While our little lives have turned
We lift our eyes and try to find
Constellations in our minds
Where is the archer, where the goat
Where the virgin’s milk-white throat
Celestial bodies overhead
Ain’t it a shame that most are dead

© jane jago 2016

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