Remember your pagan sun worship today.
This is old, but I thought I could publish it today.
An Ode to the Tilt of the Earth's Axis of Rotation Relative to its Orbital Plane
In degrees, you measure twenty three point five,
Though you of constancy nature does deprive.
Over many years, your angle will rise and then dive,
And then at your present angle you will again arrive.
Some folks think that summer has begun
When Earth is closest to the sun
But these are fools of whom we should make fun.
They are ignorant of your power, oh mighty one.
And were their idea widely believed
You would be much aggrieved
And have the right to feel peeved,
For we would be deceived.
Once a year, summer you bring
What a terrible thing!
Dripping with sweat, how the clothing does cling
And with biting mosquitoes at wing
Pain is king.
But in winter, you shield us from the solar heater
Memories of the evil skeeter
Only make the raw cold sweeter.
The awful fires of July
are torture, but I cannot deny
They help the joys of winter to magnify.
Though in winter, there is no baseball
Which begins in spring and ends in fall
Two more seasons you impose upon Nepal.
And of my poem, that is all.