Waiting For A Falling Star
The gentle mist softly touched
by David Taylor
grass, earth and trees,
obscuring the present enfolding hills
from eyes' sight.
Without knowledge of the sun
it might be thought that the very mist itself
was the source of light;
dimly illuminating the small world
not yet hidden by its envelopment.
That seeming self luminous mist,
the light for men
in deep valleys full
of promised pastures green.
Those on the hilltop bask in sunlight
and call to the mountains beyond;
as, in the valley they ponder
on the meaning of stars
and wait for one to fall to earth.