Hurtling head over heel toward the Earth, a
Meteoroid begins to sizzle and smoke,
While far below in Tuscany, there stands a
Pagan woodcarver near his window,
Staring out into the starlit night.
“I wish I may…
I wish I might
Be blessed with a child by this meteorite.”
He forks the sign of the evil eye at the cold moon,
And knows his wooden Frankenstein will arise soon.

-wythm