Poetry Friday - Copernicus

CopernicusI hold at last in hands too weak to turnits pages my Of Revolutions. NowI publish with impunity, allowthe Church her rage. All that's left to burnnow is a dead man, dry and senseless, curledand crisp. Let Holy Church endure forever:mortal though I am, without a leveror a place to stand, I move the world.---I'm not sure exactly when I wrote this, since I don't seem to have a dated