Lay on your back,
Look into the sky.
Wish upon a star,
And close your eyes.
Make shapes of the stars,
As you wait for another.
Capture the star in your mind,
Watch it fall and die.
Taught in the classrooms,
told of the truth.
They say it's fire,
Burning in a ball of gas.
So why do we call them shooting stars,
when they do not have that shape?
Why do we have so many fantasy's,
of wishing and not telling?
Maybe for our own security,
Or maybe for our hearts.
Posiblly it happened to you,
And it came true.
For all the reasons,
I don't know.
Try it your self someday,
by laying in the grass.
Look into the night sky,
And find your shooting star.
Make a sweet wish upon it,
And just simply smile.
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