Star shine, don’t say a thing. Your smile speaks louder.
Maybe Alone On My Bike by William Stafford
I listen, and the mountain lakes hear snowflakes come on those winter wings only the owls are awake to see, their radar gaze and furred ears alert. In that stillness a meaning shakes; And I have thought (maybe alone on my bike, quaintly on a cold evening pedaling home), Think!— the splendor of our life, its current unknown as those mountains, the scene no one sees. O citizens of our...