I’m a spinning, winning, tripping, zipping, super-sonic ice queen:

See my moon zoom, clock my rocket, watch me splutter tricksy space-steam.


I’m the dust bomb, I’m the freeze sneeze, I’m the top galactic jockey

made (they think) of gas and ice and mystery bits of something rocky.


Oh I sting a sherbet orbit, running rings round star or planet;

should I shoot too near the sun, my tail hots up: ouch- OUCH-please fan it!


And I’m told I hold the answer to the galaxy’s top question:

that my middle’s name of history (no surprise I’ve indigestion)


but for now I sprint and skid and whisk and bolt and belt and bomb it;

I’m that hell-for-leather, lunging, plunging, helter-skelter COMET.




Kate Wakeling - Comet

Kate Wakeling - Comet