With all the poems hitting the list lately, I was feeling a bit left out.  I
don't fancy myself much of a poet (and what a surprise -- seems I'm not the
only one who holds this opinion :) Anyway, here's my little ditty to toss
into the recent poetry pile.

As evening falls, a king stands proud, and looks o'er his domain
while tendrils of the cool night breeze play gently through his mane
and though his vigil may appear, on earthly things to lie
in truth, his gaze - as ever - plays across the ebon sky.
The firmament he searches, for a star he hopes is there.
The darkened skies, his eyes reflect as pools of despair.
Forlorne he sighs, and turns toward home and matters more mundane.
The stars, indifferent and cold, immutable remain.
Yet while the lion wends his way, the wind grows wan and weak,
and if one had the ears to hear,  the air might seem to speak,
"The answer you so vainly seek lies not within the skies.
My son, you should be searching with your heart, and not your eyes."