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StarlightLittle lights, far away, such a mystery,
Glowing, showing hope, to children just like me.
Fairytales and family, who have gone far away,
Stars provide us comfort in each and every way.
Whether they be fireflies, or people looking down,
They're surely such an easy cure to take away your frown.
And one day we believe, that we'll be up there too,
Our souls combined to make a star, just for me and you.
Little GirlLittle girl, so naive, watches the night sky,
Doesn't know, doesn't see, wishes she could fly.
Little girl, oh so young, so much still to learn,
Still believes in fantasy, the tide has yet to turn.
Little girl, lying there, dreaming far away,
Little eyelids twitching in the light of a new day.
Little girl, all grown up, puts away her toys,
Nothing is more interesting than parties, hair and boys.
Little girl, standing there, staring at the sky,
She can see those fantasies, the dreams of years gone by.
Little girl, so alone, life is hard it seems,
Never should have given up on all those far-fetched dreams.
Criticise ConstructivelyI write, not because I'm good or bad,
I write because it makes me glad,
So sharing these small things with you,
Is a very hard thing for me to do.
My thoughts don't come out right sometimes,
They come out short and full of rhymes,
And childish poems, they may be,
But they still mean something to me.
So whether you like them a lot,
Or think they should be left to rot,
I'm asking for some courtesy,
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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