It maybe a pleasant scientific scent,
Yet it’s seems to be so darn true,
The sky is at your forever rent,
The constellations are what you brew.
Magical patterns make a beauty night,
You can gaze at it all through,
Some twinkling stars so bright,
Accompanying the moon with crew.
As you lay down blinking at the sky,
You can see the many drawn wishes up,
Some maybe your own silent cry,
Lost in the stars shining troupe.
When each star marks a spear there,
The sparkle spreads across the seas,
Carrying your sigh everywhere,
Cause shooting stars are glistened with pleas.