He charts his map

Drawing with the very ink

That fills the dark night sky

 

He squints through the scope

To gaze upon the heavens

 

The darkness is a blanket over him

With holes poked for the stars

 

He predicts their future journeys

He knows their patterns are absolute

 

Until a shooting star

Dancing, with a flickering tail

Disrupts his perfect chart

 

And he finally understand that he must go to her

 

For nothing is absolute,

His plans will never play out perfectly

 

And she was his shooting star

Gliding across his map.