Alone at night, however dark,
I can see a questioning, shimmering star.
It just hangs there in the sky
Watching over passers-by.
"A ball of flame, millenia old,"
Says the astronomer looking for worlds.
"Angel up high, shining bright,"
Says the priest by church candlelight.
But ask the old man across the way,
The one that hobbles and drunkenly sways.
Point to a star, and I'll bet he says,
"You can see it better in the month of May."
Talk to him for an hour or two,
And he'll tell you stories that once men drew
Across the skies, blazing bright
Underneath Orion's light.
Constellations sketched anew
Told across the darkening blue,
Like Ursa Major, the big old bear,
"Turn your face to the sky, and stare."
by Fraser Miller