Sunniest Days

Dogged In the pursuit of truth Science writes text with bone dead words Worse parched than extra dry vermouth Oft as tasty as rancid curds. Keeping terms tight as verbal shields Description is the task of prose, The draft horse of the science fields, That ploughs grounds where ignorance grows. It plants the seeds of truth in rows Which may produce some bitter yields. I seek to learn what is real But much prefer what I can feel. The sun, I read, moves in ellipse Joining earth and moon in eclipse. Dry equations scribe orbits hips But lack the power of poets’ lips. I feel things of meaning to me In robust words of poetry. Free of parallax’ precision Of syzygy and equation. The sun plunges to nightly swim Bathing deep in a crimson sea Fringed by cumulous atoll rim As starry friends gaze silently Watching through the dark veil of night Until sun splashes up the dawn Raising up night’s curtain to light As friends fade out without a yawn.