Stars

I was standing at the start of night

Gazing at the stars.

I wasn’t thinking

About anything, except how bright they were,

Though they were not hot.

This bothered me.

And then I saw it shining there;

A bright warm star.

There was a man following my sight,

Seeing which of the stars I had chose.

When he saw the hot star he approached

Me and stood close at hand and looked up,

Toward the spread out sky and my choice.

“That ain’t a star.”

“What?”

And I turned at this impolite

Interruption into my peace.

“What?”

“It ain’t no star, that red one. It’s a Planet.”

“It looks like a star,” I said.

“Yeah, but it’s just a dead planet.

It just seems a star.”

And since that time I have found that’s right.

I looked it up in books and it is

A planet. It was a false star that

Caught my eye, one that promised to be

Such a warm sun, but was a cold world

And not a star.

Turn now and see a facade of light,

A magic lantern where comfort beams.

It is built of tall spires and steeple.

Choirbirds hum an easy somber song

Of “Aren’t you Grateful?

 Aren’t you grateful for such a star?”

There is a cynic follows your sight,

Seeing which of the stars you have chose.

Then he sees the beam and he approaches

You and stands close at hand and looks up,

Toward the tall steeple of your choice.

“That ain’t no star.”

Illustration: stock photograph