August Night

We had to wait for the heat to pass,
And I was lying on the grass,

While Mother sat outside the door,
And I saw how many stars there were.

Beyond the tree, beyond the air,
And more and more were always there.

So many that I think they must
Be sprinkled on the sky like dust.

A dust is coming through the sky!
And I felt myself begin to cry.

So many of them and so small,
Suppose I cannot know them all.

by Elizabeth Madox Roberts

Comments (2)

Thought provoking poem, thanks for sharing...
Perhaps _ A sly reminder that every moment counts and a complaint against those who would waste hers....