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Night
A little star starts a day.
A little star flies away.
Across the sky it soars to black.
The cold blanket of the abyss intact.
The little star cries out.
It sees its family speckled about.
Among the dark canvas they paint.
They tell a story that is quaint.
The past is painted in the abyss,
Not a star out of place.
Not a single one amiss.
With a smile sparked with fire.
The little star burns higher.
Like a wheel or cog,
Or a constant bark of a dog.
The star shines the light.
On the mighty Earth with no fright.
© Tabitha L Rose
A little star flies away.
Across the sky it soars to black.
The cold blanket of the abyss intact.
The little star cries out.
It sees its family speckled about.
Among the dark canvas they paint.
They tell a story that is quaint.
The past is painted in the abyss,
Not a star out of place.
Not a single one amiss.
With a smile sparked with fire.
The little star burns higher.
Like a wheel or cog,
Or a constant bark of a dog.
The star shines the light.
On the mighty Earth with no fright.
© Tabitha L Rose
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