Barren Things Poem by Captain Cur

If I choose a dying star
and share its stellar light
for in my eyes tiny beams
I am reflecting light right back.

If I write of the single blade
of wilted browning grass
or fields of flowers rain forgot
dried in heat soaked bath.

If I sing of broken wings
or souls that find no rest
to me these are the lovely things
and I hug them to my breast.

As the fragrant petals fall
I stoop to kiss the stem;
if I love the barren things
then I am one of them.