Languishing Star Poem by Patti Masterman

She made her home in the village trees,
Just a shy child around town;
Rumored an orphan in between
Relatives, who couldn't be found.

She would follow the carnival, when it came,
In her barefoot, bedraggled rags-
Keeping her distance behind the trees;
Most careful, to slightly lag.

They found her one day, beneath her trees,
Her little neck broken; so frail,
But their hearts didn't bleed, at forgotten needs-
For they were all living so well.

Not a coin could be found for a modest grave,
For the little waif they remembered;
But a kind hearted family put her in soft soil,
When a homely box was tendered.

Her home was the earth, the same as her hearth;
She had nothing else besides,
But her resting place was as near to heaven,
As anyones hope could abide.

For she had sun and moon and stars,
And the rain falling softly down,
In her small, nondescript place,
Below the cold-minded town.

If you say you have no problems,
You might not be looking far
Enough, on your blank horizons-
To find that one languishing star.

Will your conscience then reprove you,
When they lay you in new-poured grave-
To think how it should have behooved you,
To keep one thin, blinking star safe?