in a little yellow house -
with that white-picket fence
so many dream of -
a baby was sleeping.
her room was painted in
different colors -
gentle hues of
rose-pink, sky-blue, moss-green.
moonlight was creeping
through the windows
and over her soft blankets,
trying to catch a glimpse
of this quiet
perfection.
shadows of stars
swung slowly
over her sleeping form:
wishes
for a future
yet unseen.
the streets were silent,
and the lamplights cast
a yellow glow
over the white world.
snow was draped over
tree branches
and the sidewalk,
stamped all over
with footprints.
in a little yellow house -
with that white picket fence
so many dream of -
a girl was dreaming.
she stood at her window,
head in her arms,
soaking in the dark silence
of the night world.
her feet barely
reached the ground
in her position,
and her eyes were glued
to the skies
above.
the stars were twinkling
faintly,
and she wondered
about them. remembering
a story she'd heard
earlier in the day,
about how stars
were reincarnations
of
departed souls
who'd done a great deed
for the world.
she closed her eyes
and dreamed of being one of them -
a star -
some day.
of being something,
somebody,
that could be worthy
of being
a star.
the world was shrouded
in a white veil of
snow and silence;
and the girl fell asleep
and dreamed
while the stars
shone on.
and some may fall one day,
just like the wishes they've
been trusted with,
to guard in their fires
until it's all too much,
and they are forced to
explode
and collapse and crumble
to ashes and dust.
but for now they'll shine,
and shimmer
and light the way in the darkness,
hanging onto the
night sky
for as long as possible,
just like the stars hanging
in a baby's room,
in a little yellow house,
somewhere in a snow-clad world.
