This adobe is no protection against the flossy sweep of stars that in recent nights burn pinprick holes in my skin, mostly in the skull despite my orange stocking cap, hunter's orange so you won't get shot by other hunters, a color the stars readily ignore with beams of white fire. O stars, you forsaken suns. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SORROWING LOVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 11. IN THE RESTAURANT by THOMAS HARDY ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 9. TO CURIO by MARK AKENSIDE THE PIAZZA OF ST. MARK AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH HOARFROST by STELLA PFEIFFER BAISCH |