There's the wind And the rain And the mercy of the fallen Who say, "Hey, it's not my place To know what's right" There's the weak And the strong And the many stars that guide us We have some of them inside us
Look Here are we On this starry night staring into space And I must say I feel as small as dust Lying down here What point could there be troubling? Head down wondering what will Become of me Why concern we cannot see But no reason to abandon it Time is short but that's all right Maybe I'll go in the middle of the night Take your hands from your eyes, my love Everything must end some time Don't burn the day away
...She lays her beams in music, In music every ore, To the candence of the whirling world Which dances round the sun- That so they shall not be displaced By lapses or by wars, But for the love of happy souls Out live the newest stars.
If some one loves a flower of which just one example exists among all the millions and millions of stars, that’s enough to make him happy when he looks at the stars. He tells himself, “My flower’s up there somewhere. . . .” But if the sheep eats the flower, then for him it’s as if, suddenly, all the stars went out. And that isn’t important?