Stars of the Morn

March 15, 2009
Looking out the window I see it,
The twinkle of the sun's light,
Off the morning dew.

It's a beautiful thing to see
The stars of the night, sleeping,
Resting, on my lawn.

How I desire to hold them.
But to touch them is to end them,
My embrace, they're demise.

So I stay myself,
Knowing it's better to behold them and wonder,
Then to hold them, and end they're beauty.

That night I lay on my lawn and stare,
Up into the night sky at the dew drops,
The sleepy-heads of the morn, at work.

My eyelids grow heavy and my body turns numb.
I slip into the sky and become,
That which I love.

They embrace me, accept me as their own.
So I hang suspended, and shine,
I am the beauty, and the beauty is me.

My twinkle starts to dim,
And I drift back down,
Back to my lawn to rest.

I open my eyes and see the sky,
Starless, cloudy, blue.
And I know the dew is there.

I lift my head gently, softly,
Look around, and am exalted,
For the dew is holding me.

I feel it's embrace,
Soft, gentle,
And it's wet kiss upon my skin.

I stand up and watch,
as the dew let's go, and falls, glides,
back to the ground to sleep.

I return to my window
And look,
At my night sky, in the day.

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