My star

Every day I look at a star,
That particular star in the north.
I wait for it to appear;
And when there is cloud I have a tear,
Often I have a tear.
The cloud seems thick
Though I have not measured it.
It prevents the starlight
That makes my face bright.
I talk to the star,
It never seems to hear;
I look at it, I look at it,
I am never seen by it even a bit.
Why does man wish that which can’t be his?
Why take tension to attarct attention
Of something that gives you no affection…but
How do I tell myself to attain satisfaction?

( quite a compulsarily rhymed poem.. again from my previous blog)

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