So throughout the day,
we heap little collections
of our being and doing
onto the scale’s ends,
my middle sister reminds me.
We disperse intuitive conglomerations on one end
and some more controlled, learned, chosen ones
over on the other side,
if we don’t forget to walk on over.
And sometimes, someone adds some of their own,
like thoughts and words and deeds,
which can totally tip the scale.
And sometimes luck appears
(or at least some call it that)
or is being shipped onto our ends
(depending on what you think)
and evens it all out again
just like that, just so perfectly well
and sets us ever so free.
And then, do what, I ask her so,
and she’s yet to answer that.
Because she may not have to think about
what to do with fallen stars,
but not all of us work like that
and can need a little help.