Being Bright Poem by James McLain

Once I think I said this poem to you.
Where out there is the truth?
Does the brightest of each star,
burn faster, hotter than is best?

Higher than the yellow moon,
looking down what does it take?
And either one,
I see to me is brighter than the rest.

Being bright, from which is flame.
I am burnt to much and touch it, it is hot.
Melting in the after glow the melting snow.

To you it shone or, either one is joy.
And late to many afternoons,
the wait for you to long and long it was.
Night came to soon and you, I lost my vision.