I lie in bed and scan the jet-black sky
For light which I can make my lone way by.
The billion stars which strew the galaxy
(Although so lightful that together they
Could send a blinding flash around my feet)
Are but pinpricks giving off rays too weak
To illuminate my stumbling weary
Fumbling bleary-eyed grudging undersleep.
If I could touch those stars with Golden Hands
And make my arms a bold conducting track,
What symphonies would sound from where I stand,
While streaming light would flow upon my path!
But here, for now, I only darkness see;
And that, I know, is just as it should be.
© 2011, Alan Morrison