The stars shine bright above me,
As I stand here with my cup of tea.
Blue and red and white against black,
Some with a brilliance others lack.
Orion rises through the trees,
Why I cannot find Scorpio- his story holds the key.
The only stars I know how to name,
Lie within this hunter of great fame.
Cassiopeia i can easily find;
The princess on which the beast might have dined.
I can see the moon gleaming through a hint of a cloud,
While an ambulance's siren screeches loud.
A gust of wind causes me to shiver,
And there is no tea in my cup left to quiver.
So I take my leave of the winter's night,
And feel regret for the lost delight.