"It's no use running anyhow,"
I said, "You rhyme no better now."
"Then leave," it sighed, "me on the grass,
To call to those who hurry past..."
THE PLANET PRIMER.
The Sun.
Blazing, burning, golden orb,
Shines that others may absorb.
Mercury.
Freezing cold, seething blast,
Spins but once, in orbit fast.
Venus.
Beauty, brightness, hovering,
Veiled in her torrid fling.