What Is That Blinking

Steady in the arch of an old oak tree, Where limbs have crackled and fallen, Lives the North Star, saying “hello” to me, As I wander and watch the night. There seem to be stars circling around you, But they roar with the motors of planes, And I imagine their tired weary passengers, Sleeping, dozing, longing for their destination. You meet me each night on my walk, Though sometimes hidden by a passing cloud. You remind me of that Holy Star, And Hope blinks down from above.