Esketit

My Telescope

Writing poems because im forced to






I look up at the sky,
And I spy with my little eye,
A cloud, ply-with teal and lilac-
In a sky ever so black

And to the other, a ball.
Gleaming with a red hull,
Never so dull and endlessly so hot,
Constantly cooking in a big, great pot.

But on the far right,
A ball of white.
Shining with a pale light.
Then, with all its might, exploded with a bright light.

© Poetry.com