At night open skies
not a single cloud
pinpricks of light
from the wise stars

tissue of my flesh
woven from their energy
all my hopes all my desires
driven by their impulse

Nothing hidden under a bushel
the illuminations of art
and the written word
predicated on sight and insight

Reason and rhyme :
we’re here to make sense
as a child learns to count
to place a finger on the pulse

Love and understanding
all that brings satisfaction
and contentment
to the restless heart

John Lyons