Mighty nice Dipper you have there, Polaris.
His feet sit atop the fine clouds,
His head, way up
In the heart of some lucky galaxy
Where the moons are even called stars.
And look at him!
Pouring out
Milky Way Magic
And stardust
On lovestruck moths
Who flutter like punch drunk sailors
In oversized painting smocks.
And will they go all Fred Astaire
And dance in the pouring down rain?
And glitter like diamond cufflinks
At the sight of him again?
(god I hope so....)

But I am not jealous of you, Polaris,
And tho my feet are on the ground,
My head is way up
In the clouds,
And when I tiptoe,
I can reach
The tips of the Dipper's winsome feet,
And I can kiss them
With my mouth,
And worship til the north turns south
And both our cups have poured plum out,
And the Pleiades finally sigh.