The stars shine bright above me,

As I stand here with my cup of tea.

Blue and red and white against black,

Some with a brilliance others lack.

Orion rises through the trees,

Why I cannot find Scorpio- his story holds the key.

The only stars I know how to name,

Lie within this hunter of great fame.

Cassiopeia i can easily find;

The princess on which the beast might have dined.

I can see the moon gleaming through a hint of a cloud,

While an ambulance's siren screeches loud.

A gust of wind causes me to shiver,

And there is no tea in my cup left to quiver.

So I take my leave of the winter's night,

And feel regret for the lost delight.