I saw a beautiful star out my window.

Something about it caught my eye.

It shone a little brighter than the others

And had a little hint of color to it.

It was just in the corner of my peripheral vision,

But everytime I tried to turn my head and look at it directly,

It would seem to disappear.

Finally I was able to see that it was not a star at all,

But a reflection off a street light onto my window pane.

Well, I can sit and stare at that dumb streetlamp 

All I want to, and it will never even look back at me,

And it will never move.

So now I'm laying here

With my chin on my fist staring up into the streetlamp,

Waiting for the sun to come up,

Or whatever it is that the sun does,

Or whatever it is that the earth does, 

Or whatever it is that the universe does,

To create what I like to call "morning,"

So I can quit waxing all poetic,

And quit thinkin' about the stars,

(Which may only turn out to be lowly street lamps of the cosmos anyway,)

And get up and get on with my day.

-jenn