He lay on a dark, deserted isle,
With eyes fixed at stars above;
Face lighted with a smile so big
No vigilant God, would allow.
So painter of the million stars,
Begun a silly game to play:
To erase some stars quietly and see
If his bright smile, could hold its way.
He slowly panted a lonely one,
But smile did not a fraction break.
What difference does it really make,
When a dropp is offed from a lake?
He quietly did blow a dozen more,
But the smile still shone, as before.
What if some are forever lost,
When remain still are many more?
He slyly licked half the stars,
But the smile still remained like new.
What if many are forever gone,
When staying still are faithful few?
He mopped the sky- dry and clean,
But the smile still perdured as one.
What do the stars anyway mean,
When survived has it, the death of sun?