Lonesome is the Morning Star,
last to fade, alone at dawn
but knowing a faint taste of day,
the first bird song, the little lights
that come to life in darkened houses.
So like the stars of night, they are,
her many sisters shining high.
She goes to join them now, farewell,
little lights, little stars
that shine below. Farewell, she fades.
Stephen Brooke ©2011
A simple little thought in verse.