Among the hills a meteorite <br />Lies huge; and moss has overgrown, <br />And wind and rain with touches light <br />Made soft, the contours of the stone. <br /> <br />Thus easily can Earth digest <br />A cinder of sidereal fire, <br />And make her translunary guest <br />The native of an English shire. <br /> <br />Nor is it strange these wanderers <br />Find in her lap their fitting place, <br />For every particle that's hers <br />Came at the first from outer space. <br /> <br />All that is Earth has once been sky; <br />Down from the sun of old she came, <br />Or from some star that travelled by <br />Too close to his entangling flame. <br /> <br />Hence, if belated drops yet fall <br />From heaven, on these her plastic power <br />Still works as once it worked on all <br />The glad rush of the golden shower.<br /><br />Clive Staples Lewis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-meterorite/
