Morning Stars

When morning was an unmarked slate,
And life a map uncharted by the past,
I walked the dim-lit street of almost dawn,
and watched the lingering stars that faded last.

To my wonder, I saw a star blink out,
Another, then each one, snuffed out in turn;
the unmarked paths within my heart grew bright,
A lighter footstep marked my walk's return.

Today I walked again at early dawn,
and glimpsed the solitary morning star.
Whimsically, I thought, "I'll see if I can see,
the moment it blinks out in skies so far."

The groves of trees and those that lined the road,
stood before the star to block my view;
I hurried, then slowed down, walked backward,
more chance of seeing when it blinked adieu.

I dodged and then I rushed to miss the trees
and moved ahead into an open space.
There, I spotted it above again.
It may wink out at this very place.

My watch moved forward, time to go;
The star still lingered, obstinate.
I passed an interfering clump of trees;
I missed its passing; now I blinked too late.

When morning was an unmarked slate,
and life a map uncharted by the past,
a sign was needed in the almost-dawn,
not so much now, my way more clear at last.