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.