There was a little boy who lived on Westbury Lane.
He talked to the stars and gave them new names.
He thought of them as people, but they were magic and free
He whispered them stories, and hoped he would see
Just one tiny sparkle, a glimmer of hope
A sign of reality in those he to spoke.
Later in life, as a teenage boy,
He gave up his hopes, and all of his toys.
The stars had not given him a single wink,
They were only a boy’s dream, he would think.
And seventeen years later, after one fickle fight,
He stepped out of his house and embraced the night.
He called to the stars, told them of his despair,
And finally they smiled, and gobbled him up, then and there.
"Little boy, we have missed you," the stars said to he
“When you left us, it was clear, you had much to see.”
And they showed him the world, the stars in the sky,
They showed him how to wonder from way up high.
At the end, they were solemn, and sat him on their beams,
They gave him advice, and told him to imagine and dream.
Soon he was back home, all tucked up in bed,
Imagining his mother reading to him, though she was long dead.
But next to him, sleeping, was the wonder he craved,
The woman he loved, who had his life made.