They’re hanging like a spangled banner
draped over the night black globe.
Pin pricks in the blackness.
But no red blood flowing.
Silver spangles oozing
gleaming white light.
The red will follow soon enough as
the sun plots it’s rise to power.
As it schemes to flood the black,
obliterate the white,
drown them both,
blind them in it’s
golden glow and
blood red heat.


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