The pale heavens of the universe
refute a good morning to her
neither do the sky-punched stars
bother with an evening’s kiss.
This earth, where so many memories,
Among fine sentiments are buried,
could die in need of tender glance,
A cordial comment, or a little peace.
This damp blue ball is lonely,
so very lonely, as she views
the moon's cold cratered clothing,
while accusing the sun of being a thief.
It is a hot sun burning bright,
with many photons un-leased
in an attempt to pacify this earth
as the only living renter it keeps.