Drops of light, they glide over the sphere we call home,
like water on a snow globe, lit by the brightest day, during the darkest night.
Peering into our world in short bursts,
obedient to time and space, they wait for us each year.
In our appreciation we spurn their advances, for what can we do,
but allow them to render themselves vapor?
Glorious and vibrant they streak across the sky in a most violent and beautiful death,
they think us rude, but we just stand and stare.
Temprano en enero hay ésos azules y rápidos de Bootes,
pero en un instante no son no más.
Los mejores vienen durante agosto, se llaman Perseids, y son tan hermosos,
ésos que cepillan el pelo oscuro, suave y fluyendo que es el cielo del noche.
Necesito practicar más a menudo (mi español se está volando)
that as really good
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