When the sky's dark as night, corona's yellow,
I regret that a cloud might intervene;
So I called on a mete'orologist
To be sure there'd be pure skies on the scene.

I have heard people rant and rave and bellow
That the sun out-of-sight is swell o'erhead,
But I'm told by my ophthalmologist
That I can't look right in, so I dread.

I fear that humans race
To find a viewing place;
Some haven't very far to go.
But ev'ry lodging still
Is jacking up its bill,
And telling me there just ain't no.

I could say that I'd rather just stay mellow
Than to steer for "in" dwelling, rent apart;
But I'm stuck here alone
With a thin smart-phone,
And I won't see the moon cross sun's heart!
Not its heart...