Though shooting stars commemorate the birth
of deities, no stellar signs appear
to eulogize the dime-a-dozen worth
of disenchanted everymen, I fear.
Few males are born with mythic traits these days
(you hardly hold the patent on mundane)   -
no worries, though, your all-too-human ways
makes modesty less taxing to attain.
So if your isolated sighs suggest
estrangement from the ruling class above,
be certain you were copiously blessed
with down-to-earth appealingness, my love.
No mountains moved in honor of your might
but you are my unparalleled delight.