She saw it again,
The same star, that once outshone the rest,
The one that beamed its rays on a ground that was barren,
It was on a night,
When the constellation stood witness,
To a thousand illumination.
Every lighted star that shone on that clear, dark sky,
Had a little awe for that one tiny star,
The one that shone the brightest,
The one that lit that barren land, lending its rays to a ground of bare plainness.
Gently, she summoned the quiet star, her need to imprint its image in her mind, so implacable.
“O you, the brightest star of the night,
How luminuously you define beauty with your fire,
The land of the barren terrain has been adorned with your impassioned rays,
It harkens the world, to awe, to astounding revelation,
It creates a vision so spectacular, it dazzles as it embodies your blinding sight.”
She awaits a sign,
She believes that the star would abide her bidding,
She beseeches the star to alight her wonderment,
She, a mere bystander,
She wishes for its benevolent salutation.
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