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๐€ ๐”๐ง๐ข๐ฏ๐ž๐ซ๐ฌ๐š๐ฅ ๐๐ฎ๐ž๐ฌ๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง

We sit upon a whirling tilted sphere,
That hurtles through a vacuum at high speed.
And if you donโ€™t think this is rather queer,
You are my friend, a strange fellow indeed.
The Sun (an atom bomb) it is agreed,
We circle once a year. A satellite,
The moon we call it โ€” like a silver bead,
It shines upon us on a moonlit night.
The stars above on starry nights give light,
And shooting stars sometimes at night they fall,
And though they are to us a splendid sight,
Theyโ€™re meteors โ€” not really stars at all.
Who set in motion this great cosmic dance?
Or could it all have happened just by chance?

โ€” D.N. Oโ€™Brien