another sun

with no fuss the stars come out each night
we don't think about it nor do we ever think
of what would happen if when on the brink
of evening we got a sudden sharp new light
it would be strange and it would not be right
but if the nightclouds were tinted deep pink
instead of what they are we still would drink
their water though we'd all quail at the sight
the strange we can endure and every hell
that we can manufacture we'll still contrive
though it be near impossible and though
we hope to hear the sweet dismissal bell
our efforts may still lead us to survive
in all those places that we would not go