It doesn't matter that men have tarnished you,
trampling your surface in their giant boots
to bring back samples of rock and dust,
nor that I can Google you, find a million facts.

All that's one thing.
Quite another when your light falls in my room,
turns everything to silver.
Even the dust.

Gill McEvoy

If you have any comments on this poem, Gill McEvoy would be pleased to hear them.

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