We Astronomers

 We astronomers are nomads,
Merchants, circus people,
All the earth our tent.
We are industrious.
We breed enthusiasms, Honour our responsibility to awe.
But the universe has moved a long way off.
Sometimes, I confess, Starlight seems too sharp, And like the moon I bend my face to the ground, To the small patch where each foot falls, Before it falls, And I forget to ask questions, And only count things.

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