Sorry if this is the second appearance of this poem...there seems to have 
been some sort of malfunction!

==============================================

Whenever the steel-beaked hawk
stands, proud, upon its moondust perch
he exists solely in tribute to you;
For then there are no other stars:

They have scattered and regressed into nebulae
in frantic awe of the mere sight
of your indescribable hues.

--Before you, these colors did not even exist--

The eyes of the hawk
reflect them expertly regardless,
as this is a Moment.

Understand his task!  As protector of all
infantile stardust rifts,
he soars through the galaxies ensuring
that their particles remain intact
throuhout the maturing process.
However, though necessary his efforts may be,
they have forever resulted in incorrect forms.

--But now, yes, he has caught sight
of your colors (putting Cerulean to shame)
and the power they wield--

You will be a hero for that first True Star,
tiniest and most grateful,
and all subsequent generations
of celestial perfection
forever



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