that he loved the stars too dearly
to be fearful of the night
and it is an enviable sentiment
But what of those dark hours
when the fog is so thick
even the nearest garden lamps
are cloaked in mire
Where are those glittering promises
when the torrent batters the roof
and knocks out the lights
both inside and out
It takes a rocket of imagination
to carve a path through the blackness
and the unstable fusion power
of faith as a propellant
But when no fuel can be found
to blast through the ominous clouds
one must seek closer heavenly lights
to love and hold dear to dispel the fear
There is the luminosity of tender words
the brightness of back rubs
and the warmth of cold compresses
there is the constellation of caring
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