Song

The star has but one purpose,
One place in Space
To shine.
Born to fixed position,
His powers eminent,
The planets ringed round him,
In orbits coalesced.

In one fixed place,
Requited, or not,
--we would never know--
To shine for perpetuity,
Then finally to expand
In gaseous death,
Imploding,
To take all with him,
Even the light he shone.

The tree too,
One place shall he grace,
His limbs spread overhead
To abide with sundial's dignity.
It would depress,
Upset, confuse,
For him to move
His spot where
Sunlight meets the shade,
For wind's caress,
For rain to kiss,
For sleet to hiss,
For snow to tendril in.

Doest one say to the tree
Or to the star in yonder heaven
Why have not ye moved,
Moved on?

Moved on?
What is that?
What would that entail?
What would that be,
Sayeth the tree.

I effect all near
And all far
Just so, from here,
Sayeth the star.

Move along,
That’s for the policeman to call
When fears of public riot grow,
Or to hide from private eyes
The trade he plies.

Me, I tried a poem today.
What more is there to say?