The Death of Atmo

A sphere spins in the cold abyss,

So cold that air does not exist.

Around this sphere, Atmo gave life

To everything that lived inside.

Atmo encircled this blue dot

Like a bubble, easy to pop.

Atmo was not adamantine

But made of vapour, thin and fine.

Some on the sphere did not believe

Atmo was a living thing.

She could die like all else

When poisoned by gas and smothered in filth.

Atmo died a slow, long death,

And the life she gave struggled for breath.

A sphere spins in the cold abyss,

So cold that air does not exist.