A great star
through the black pool that is the night sky.
A white-hot bolt of lightening
through the stormy sky.
A snow flake
through the frigid noon sky.
into the early morning sunrise.
with such beauty and wonder,
one would think it precious.
But how precious can true beauty be
that is so easily thrown away?
What measure can be put on what was lost?
AN: The title is pronounced 'dee-a git.' It roughly means 'good day' in irish gaelic.