Two words we couldn’t do without:
Syzygy, when three celestials
Align on their gravitational route,
Momentarily over a billion miles,
Occluding light, eclipsing night,
Like the gnomon on a sun dial.
Chiasmus, the reversal or bight
Of like words in two parallel
Clauses, such as, heaven is bright,
But all is eclipsed in hell.
Oh, the words we spit, spat, spout —
Though we live under their spell,
They can’t cast what life is about.
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