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]