I wonder if the stars get anxious
When the sun begins to crest
The edge of a world sleeping?
The moon of course is always touched
And on occasion visits her brother
But the star with no name
Save an account in some ancient book
Has no quarter but with darkness.
Who notices her shimmer?
Who counts the moments she strives to shine?
And should she weep, would even the sisters give comfort?
In briefest moments, she gives light and takes care of a wish drifting by
But twilight comes, as the celestial perfection emerges
So, I wonder, do the stars grow anxious
As do I?