I can hear the stories that never
grow old. They sing with the voice
of a mermaid as the night fades
and the stars drift by.

One little star, second to the others
looks down on me and asks why
I am still here, straining
to grasp this shadow of an idea
and glue it to a page made slippery with hope.

I’ll tell you, little one of sparkling dust,
that though your world is shut to me,
I can still send others there.

*by Rebekah Shafer

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