The north star gleams faithfully; the faithful gaze she leads.
“Follow her, young man,” I heard, “to wise and welcome deeds.
She led our king to victory, she led his armies far.”
But I was young, and my eye clung onto a brighter star.
In the dark, my path seemed straight, though often I crossed that
Wide and hardened road that pilgrims’ feet wore flat.
A yawing, sawing way was mine, through realms that surely bar
Those too weak or wise to seek only the brighter star.
How pride seeps in
Through the cracks in the din
Of my loneliness after all!
For I polished my woe,
And I treasured it so,
As I hung it over the pall.
Maybe it replaced
The bright star I chased,
Though it didn’t make my way straighter.
I chance once more
Upon that road, for,
I always do, sooner or later.
And the north star gleams faithfully; my old friends, miles ahead
Down this path, no longer call. They’ve gone as they were led,
And all I have for wandering through nights of frigid tar
Are weary feet and something sweet to tell the brighter star:
That if it must gleam on again, and lead another soul
In its restless, shifting dance, faithless to either pole,
Then lead them far from this path, tear the sky ajar,
So they won’t see what they can’t be, chasing the brighter star.