As a child I grasp the stars in my hand,

Autumn leaves mask the sky in crimson cloak,

My grip, loosens at my teacher’s command:

Ambition itches like poisonous oak.

The stars, once so close, drift farther away,

Winter’s snow paves the road, why am I cold?

My grip loosens, mother’s word I obey-

Stability, security is gold.

My vision grows poor, as the star glows dim

Spring’s touch revives the flower’s bloom, I cry.

My grip loosens, the world I hear is grim.

Your ambition, revise and modify.

I will listen no more, my dream my star,

My grip tightens, ignoring the world’s scar.