Comet

Across the ink‑black sky a wanderer glides,
An icy traveller with a silver‑bright tail,
Its heart of frozen dust ignites as it slides,
Leaving a gossamer trail that whispers of tales.

It carves a silent arc through velvet night,
A fleeting beacon of ancient fire,
Drawing gasps from those who lift their sight,
Before it slips beyond the moon’s soft choir.

When the comet returns, the heavens sigh,
Recalling the wonder of its brief, bright pass.