Stardust

She ran across the drowsy meadows,

In the wake of the midnight,

To collect the stardust,

Which had been strewn all across those meadows,

On the soil, the grass and the wildflowers,

Occupying them.

She knew, it would be seemingly impossible,

To collect the stardust,

For it was the essence of stars,

The very symbols of a divine presence,

Which could only be felt, in the heart,

And not by any touch.

Yet, she persisted to collect,

Any possible remnants of the stardust,

In those meadows, in the stark darkness,

Of the midnight.

She did not wish to preserve it,

For she knew the truth of gorgeous things,

Them being short-lived.

Yet, she wished to collect that stardust,

For, in her lifetime,

At least for a moment, she wished to,

Have been surrounded by,

The purest of the things,

Even though it would be, impermanent.

She wished to see the stardust,

To feel it, perhaps to hold it in her warm hands,

And then to see it evanesce,

Like a fleeting flash,

Amidst the stark darkness of the midnight.

It's been a long time, almost ages,

Since she has been running across those meadows,

Every night, and she shall be doing so,

Until she has that encounter with,

The heavenly stardust.

She shall keep running across the same meadows.