By James Dillet Freeman
The stars crowd close around me when I walk
at night sometimes. Like swarms of summer flies
circling my head, they dance before my eyes—
would dart into my mouth if I dared talk.
To keep the stars from catching in my hair,
I try to brush them from me, but my hands
get tangled with the light as in the strands
the little spiders spin upon the air.
Some learned people think that stars are far
Away, but they seem close to me as sight—
Friendly and warm and near as candlelight;
I feel a kindly kinship with a star.
Light-years are for astronomers; I teach
That you can touch the heavens if you reach.