The Lord destined us – everyone – the fate – the King or valets. The fate of his, to gaze in tube the distant stars and planets.
He labored dozens years running, he studied well the world’s layout. He had them all: the skies, the garden, all his small circle – in and out.
But not an icon, not a cross, and not a Bible in the height. Yet, as a whole, his fate is common – he lived a life not harming a fly.
And now his eyes got weak and dull, His back has stooped of age and pain. All of his life he looked at skies, but didn’t find the God in them.