By Andrew R. Duckworth
I can see them through those Tennessee trees,
The same stars that shine over north Texas
On a clear autumn night.
Those stars shine bright,
A sobering sight
That screams that we aren’t as big as we think,
We aren’t as big as we hope.
It may be a small world,
But we’re ants boasting on an anthill,
While the world keeps spinning
And that canopy keeps twinkling
Just beyond Tennessee trees.