Now that September skies have reared aloft
Aquarius, pouring water to the Fish,
And Capricornus, shaped more like a dish
(Or anything but goat), my hat is doffed
To this rare season. Who has scoffed
Because the summer ends its feverish
Mad dance, should look around. For who could wish
Days finer, when the winds contribute soft
Haze curtains through which nightly all the stars
Peek out in autumn modesty for those
Who deign to look beyond our earthly bars
To where the messengers of space repose.
Though talk of wars and man-made woes increase,
The star-imbedded heavens speak of peace.
by Ray Romine Sunday, February 18, 1951
