Stonehenge Courtesy Britannica.com

Astronomer

He greeted the new sun every day,

for he was getting old and gray.

And it was the morning sun warm,

vanquished bare skin cold's harm.

You might say he worshiped it,

like fire warmed him at night.

But this time of year when it was cold,

he relished when sun's rays took hold.

He began to mark each spot,

where the sun shown or not.

With a stick driven in the ground,

until there were 365 and he found.

The sun returned to that first stick,

and in another year it was no trick.

He could predict the time of year,

also when the moon phases appear.

He replaced the sticks with stone,

from it a temple to the sun grown.

More elaborate with each year,

as if to honor sun's warm cheer.

Others in the clan relied on him,

to tell them when it was time to hunt.

Time to harvest wild fruit ripe,

time to prepare for winter's bite.

The sun became so important,

to his daily life and time.

It became his God of gods,

to interpret this all the odds.

To say that he worshiped the sun,

would be right, in its yearly run.

Clan looked up to his advice,

his word became God's vice.

He conjured up all points of view,

garnered visions for the few.

His word would always come true ,

astrology's pictures he drew.

But the underlying science,

was brand-new, and hence,

religion and astrology's fortune,

became a regular occupation, too.

Copyright 2021 © Ronald W. Hull

12/30/21

You can read and print this poem at my website here.