Many a star I strew across my path,
and rolling, bouncing, running, laughing,
roll they past.

The very dimmest — least aglow —
sit, ’till shooed,
but ne’er a bright.

On I tread, tracking ever,
ere a-sky they flee,
but no more see.

In pity I would stop and weep,
but still a moon walks with me.

* Thanks to L.E., who rescued this for me. I've mislaid a lot of writings over the years, and have rarely gotten them back.