Softly floating galaxy
Drifting down through a ray of light,
Outlined in a shining glow,
Then vanishing once more.
Like ever present snow,
the old house is bathed in miniture winter,
In a clean room there are no seasons,
Here things move as if alive;
Whirling in a crazy flurry at the movement of an arm,
Then settling back to their old serene path.