poem from a previous millennium

Neptune's Journey

It was a cold November,

Neptune was rising, dwarfing the pock-marked Moon.

The ships rode high in the water, vaster than Leviathan of legend,

shining eggs strung with millions of lights.

Grounded in the seabed forever it had seemed,

but I knew these birds would fly.

It's a long way here from Neptune's cold familiar orbit

A journey most planets don't make once.