The Greatest Show

OPTICAL, OPTICAL! the moon is an optical illusion!
Twist your golden monocle and there it is,
Gleaming through the velvet curtain of the night.

And what is night? What are stars?
Glittering barnacles stuck to the surface of a rotary orb.

DEAR SIR, do fix your tripod!
These fleeting sky spectres are nought but tricks
Of a frolicking Harlequin juggling his wits.

And asteroids? Dusty little curios they are,
Unearthed in the basements of decrepit antique shops,
Flying about in aircrafts of new-fangled design.

ROUND AND ROUND the world goes,
A merry-go-round pinned to a watercolour globe.

A sorbet explosion over the hyperborean icing;
What a sparkling cocktail it is, this so-called universe!
You'd be the first, my good Sir, to claim otherwise.