Strange is this place in which we find ourselves,
From parents’ hearths we two have traveled far.
And yet a home of sorts we have made here,
Still guided by same sun, same moon, same stars.
What fate has spun this unexpected thread?
What weft in some design will our skein fill?
Does Adonai our lives manipulate,
Or do we choose this course of our own will?
Pattern unknown to us, we can but trust,
The gentle weaver’s hand, our Lord divine.
Regardless of what space may separate
Our thread from yours, we’re ever intertwined.
And so with you, our friends from far and wide
We share one hope, one love this Christmastide.
Obviously I had a sonnet in mind that year, but came up short on the rhyme scheme. Still, it isn't a bad little poem, and it does mention stars, per the Poetry Bus prompt from the Weaver of Grass.