They call those stars down south.
You can see them that way.
You can see them hunt, or dance,
Sway like birds on a branch.
You’re free to see the stars
As tales, tales that please you,
How you please. Ah, you know—
It’s just your kin, your folks,
Who tell you what to do.
The stars don’t care. The stars
Love you. Sure, sure, they do.
Love what you’ve made them, too.
Thursday, January 14, 2021
The Old Man Who Leans on a Stick
