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Set behind a large, glowing moon
Is the palace of stars, bright with their gases.
With the cicadas singing their tune
An old man watches through his glasses.
Black is the sky his eyes set upon
That inspired poets for ages.
He sees a pattern shaped like a chess pawn
And records it in his notebook pages.
Amateur astronomer, this old man be,
Outside every night, sitting, watching
The man in the moon with his smile of glee
Looks down as the cicadas try to sing.
The old man lies, lifeless, not breathing.
His records, however, remain with their teaching.