The 19th Poem

Staring up, a fourteen point star-tree,
the lights blocking out the sky
with their magic brilliancy,
And I cannot stay
standing beneath such wonderful glory.
So against an even more ancient trunk
my tired self leans,
so long after the new night has begun,
only so hoping, not only for some life,
but to stay dry and clean.
My soul begs and pleads in loneliness
and is met with some strange loveliness
which gives me hope
to put my heart newly in
as the words softly whisper again,
And again I remember,
though never am I able
to do all or any of this right,
you keep on loving,
drawing me toward your light.

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