Part of the seven sins of man, sadly, I’m the one we glorify the most; If a squirrel stores nuts for winter, it’s the norm, but if it took them all, we’d ask questions; Why not apply this to man, this trait keeps them with the upper hand;

I'm made of rope or woven thread, without a floor, I'm still a bed. I'm a bridge between two trees, a see-through swaying breeze.

In the velvet sky, a glowing art, A cosmic map, each star a part. Stories told through stars in flight, A timeless dance in the night.

The moon shows it’s time. To crop to refine. What’s ripe for the taking. Field, tree, bush or vine.

I paint the sky in muted hue, with hints of gold and fading blue. Before the stars begin their flight, I linger softly out of sight.