yet another one before the bed

Sometimes when I look at the sky at night, even when it is cloudy, sprinkled all over the place are these tiny dots of light... imagine, that is all our ancestors ever saw of those lights, even as the enormous fusion globes emitted the light we see when they were walking this earth. The sheer magnitude, not of the cosmos, THAT can never really get to anyone, but the size of each of the small dots of light can be appreciated with some mediocum of imagination. The night sky is not starved of suns. This is probably the fourth poem written when I am sleepy: The eternal stars silently spy/ and crickets croak in their keep/ all the lights flicker and die /my eyelids droop for want of sleep. Owls wing their ways softly by/ the mellow moonlight boldy gleams/ in the deep of the twilight sky/ and my mind tires for want of dreams