the fault is not in our stars

Orion stalks us from the Southern skies
no quarry can escape his sword, and bow
laid bare beneath the huntsman's twinkling eyes,
where there's no figleaf, and no wisp of snow.
High season, when we ought to be on skis
our storms are pounding Florida, and Maine.
The drought that's beating Capetown to its knees
has San Franciscans praying for more rain.
The Winter snows and rains that used to fill
our reservoirs to bridge the Summer dearth,
now flood one state, but give another nil
as we disrupt the cycles of our Earth.
The stars can't sigh; they know this plot too well.
It's how such species make their worlds a Hell.