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Bright stars outined celestial city streets;   
the Moonbah muttered mutely in the dark;  
late snow-line shone above in mystic sheets,  
and trees reflected firelight, shining bark,  
fine filagree of leaves against the light.  
With back against a tussock: nowhere fault,  
all senses set to savour dreams in flight.  
But sudden from the Cross towards the vault  
a glow, outside of nature, drew a line  
to one who knew the stars a thing insane;  
silent straight and certain, a saturnine;  
no comet, shooting star or areoplane.  

It broke all laws, induced a stone-age fright,  
before explained as Russian satellite.     		    
[from the Desert of my Heart and Mind by F.J.A.Pockley 1912-1990]