Stars are beautiful, but they may not take part in anything, they must just look on forever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was. So the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak (winking is the star language), but the little ones still wonder
Don't doubt.
Just shout.
For a reason.
This season.
Shut up.
Please not.
Just...
Must...
I'm sorry.
Don't worry.
Not crazy.
Simply shaky.
This poem.
Makes perfect sense.
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