Galilleo Remington
looked slightly out of place,
his pose showed little grace,
I seldom saw his face.
Since he had happened home again
from prison down in Spain,
expressionless and plain,
I wondered if he's sane.
Then everything was different
as soon as it was night,
if no clouds were in sight,
he shone with pute delight.
For every single evening's spent
there at the windowsill,
him holding very still,
to songs of whipporwhill.
Then as the time grew lwater
I would leave to go to bed,
I'd wave and nod my head,
and this he always said:
"There's nothing any greater
in this galaxy of ours,
forget Venus and Mars,
I so love shooting stars!"
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