From my roof I sought the northern lights
The moon shone silver in the clear night
keeping the aurora borealis out of sight
banning the promised show from a city too bright.
clouds soon blanketed the heavens with a soft white
disappointed I descended from the the roof’s heights
to my room and drink beer to soften the plight
of man’s futile search for the northern lights
and I don’t have to rythme anything with beer,
because the dance of the sky is always there after the sixth beer.