Eh! Lippershey!

What a foolish man you’ve turned out to be,

To have wasted your time on

Such unnecessaries,

How could you not see?

This ball of midnight magic!

 

She’s so gloriously obvious,

So obviously glorious,

The girl with the alien tongue,

Space oddity, cosmic commodity,

And so delectably different from me…

 

And you… and you… and you!

 

But keep your hands off, Hans,

And put your telescope away, old chap!

She’s mine to keep,

Locked deep within my paralysed mind,

Behind feverish eyes,

She skips through black jack skies,

 

That girl so familiarly foreign to me.