Iron is the mean,
But at the core,
Of any old ball,
Is a whole lot more...
Of any weight is a sound,
Just as bodies move around...
Sound travels through empty space,
Just like the moon to the human race...
Piece by piece where all things made,
The secrets being its heavenly fade!
Matter being between the few,
It's elements join to form the dew...
Of an essence and by a wit,
Heavens everlasting and also a bit,
Like isotopes and move between...
Grey areas developed to help a few...
Just as black is too the dew...
As spiders webs and in the morn...
On bushes few and the sun is too the dawn...
On Earth we are all turning around...
As some move sideways to find a place,
For their master...
Who came from space...

Sean Collard 9/11/2015