Shooting Star

I was scraping away the dirt from my feet,

And a shooting star paused for me, aloft.

Toiling for days, I could take off little grime,

And so I didn't hope to clean them to shine.

The star stood there, all frozen in its path,

As if it hardly wished to meet its ground.

And earnestly did it look at my soiled feet,

With curious eyes that charmed me perfect.

It searched my eyes for a reflection to find,

If same is the plight in embracing the earth.

And then I found there was no going back,

When our eyes had met and twirled in sync.

It glowed and burnt as splendid as it can,

And cleansed my feet with fire, intense.

From then, I couldn't imagine days in mud,

But the star went off to embrace its ground.