The frosty winds of night journeyed in many silent whispers,
The multitude of hovering clouds gathered high in mammoth conference,
The pale blue moon of dark floated crosswise the misty congregation
Miled as if averse to the hazed company.
White burst of light from shadows of night,
The shooting star ran hurriedly past the tense, gloomy divide.
"Make a wish" mama said,
"Tell to the star your deepest desires,
Let the power of her sojourn be light to your want".
Prayer of unfaith fell off tongue in fleeting mutter;
"Shower sight with your gaze as birth hour recurs,
Then and then would I thrust to you, a wish".
The night sky on said day blossomed wholly with myriad shooting stars.
Here in the midst of roaring thundered winds
I say by heart, a desire to this many lights,
A wish to find, to bear unquavering love,
One pure, true as sanctity of spry shooting stars.