At His Window
by Maureen Keating
The sun set softly
Across the Western sky.
The stars came out a-twinkling,
The moon floated high.
He sat at his window
Finished with his toys,
And tired of his study
Like any little boy.
He looked to the stars,
His mind was filled with peace.
Then he saw the brightest star
So for it, he reached.
It came down a-twinkling
With a million bright lights.
It lifted him high
And bore him away in the night.
It brought him to a place
Made up of his own mind.
It had what he wanted,
All of the finest kind:
A candy-laden table,
His room was very large.
At night he was a king,
By day a hockey star.
He didn’t go to school,
He slept till ten o’clock.
He rode a ten-speed bike,
And he never had to walk.
The people in attendance
Were heroes of the best,
They bowed to his fancy
And never took a rest.
He lived all his thoughts,
He played with all his toys,
He ate up his fill,
Like any little boy.
Then one day he said it
While sitting on his throne,
“I’ve had lots of fun tonight and
Now I’m going home.”
“Home?” they said, astonished.
At one another they stared.
Then one found his voice …
“What on earth is there?”
“Here is a splendid place
To live my dreams with zeal,
But home is a special place
Mostly cause it’s real.”
Then he stretched his arm
And the star lifted him high.
It carried him away
Across the Western sky.
It brought him to his room.
He finished all his studies.
Then he went to sleep,
Thinking of his mommy.
The star left the sill, and
Stopped there in the sky,
It said …
“Angels are shining bright tonight,
Such wisdom they won’t pass by.”
About the Poet
Maureen Keating was born in Toronto, ON in 1946. By profession, she has had the privilege and pleasure of working as a substitute teacher with a background in English and Visual Arts. Presently retired, Maureen continues to write poems and can be found published in Time of Singing: A Journal of Christian Poetry and an anthology, Alchemy and Miracles.
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