As the Sun sank over the mountains,
And the night began to fall,
He saw a silhouette in the skies above,
And his feet began to crawl.

He climbed up the hill with an outstretched hand,
A hand that was filled with scars,
Of all of the times he’d tried before,
To reach out to the shooting stars.

He’d jump up and try, to grab one of them,
As they flew so hastily by,
He’d fall down and hurt him-self again,
And again he’d sanguinely try.

“What a fool!”, they said as they passed him by,
“How many falls is it going to take?”
Brushing the dust off his tattered shirt,
“Just one more, Sir!”, he spake.

He went up the hill on his broken heels,
And with an astounding, heavenly din,
They saw a fire rage up, high in the sky,
As he lit up his world within!