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Poems by Jim Fulcomer

To The Astronomer

Way out beyond the Kuiper Belt, where Helium begins to melt,
an odd collection gathers there, in atmospherics super-rare.
Bits of Cosmic flotsam spin, in solar light, so very dim,
from a sun just barely glowing, but whose gravity is flowing.

They orbit in a giant wheel, held in a grip they barely feel-
Obeying laws they cannot break, while weaving their celestial wake
.But 'ere so often they congeal and gathering their mass-appeal,
Reject the orbit of their youth and searching for a different truth-

pay us a visit and with wonder, we observe their fiery blunder.
They leave us bits of Astro-dust, which trickle down upon our crust.
The magic of it all is grand, but will we ever understand,
how privileged we are to see, such marvels of Astronomy?

For those who count their comets keep, their records and in joyous leap,
Name them as if parents proud, of their offspring from the cloud,
of Oort, which seems to send them out - constantly without a doubt.
Bragging rights will go to those, who watch by night in thermal clothes,

and discover something rare and new. Honors if it comes to you!
Patience and persistence pay; just watch by night and skip the day ...