Creator of the Final Rhyme

I often sit and stare at stars That capture rapture from afar And twinkle like a winking eye; Then twinkle not when light is nigh. But this old man, (who sighs a sigh,) Will always try to justify How far each star from here must be As part of God's infinity. A tiny tip of life, is man, Too arrogant to understand, The distance vast and far away From me and mine and yours today. My wisdom wanes with age, it's true, So now I make this vow to you. I pledge no need to speculate On distillation due the stars, Or try to claim a wizened state, That knows the breadth and depth of Mars. I am content to contemplate The master of this mystey For She alone can educate, A dim-eyed poet poor as me. That knowledge is withheld in time, It stays with Her who makes all things; Creator of the final rhyme - To Her this aging poet sings. And now, my friend, therein doth lie, A truth beyond all truth you know! So gaze at stars but don't ask why They wink and twinkle as they glow.