Sonnet

The sky has so many stars that its face
E’en in the dark of night appears bright!
Each ribbony ray seems inclined to race
Toward earth, as though it requires the light.

It does not.

Man as aged long, to the time
He can’t see himself as part of the sky,
Of the dust, or anything sublime,
He has answered the “how?” (But failed the “why?”).

If he could, for a while, shun the glory,
The power, the wealth, the pride, the fame,
And but hear the stars’ lighted, bright story,
He shall be of Nature and need no name.

But the mind of man has evolved to think,
While his idle heart to nothingness does sink.

15th March.

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