Aubade

Familiar cloud-embellished flame
Spills over dark Horizon’s girth
As Nature’s resurrection rocks
The icy cradle of the Earth.
While poets sing, astronomers
Take different music with their notes
And physicists arrange the spheres
To peer at microscopic motes.
The sun, for all her majesty
Abides and reigns, but does not rise;
It falls to microscopic Earth
To turn and meet those burning eyes.