A Writers Sky

I went outside tonight,
To get some fresh air,
I looked into the sky,
Stars were everwhere.
The stars seemed to blink at me,
As if to dare me to stare,
But all i could do was think,
There's a lot of stories out there.
A writer can tell his story,
By sitting, and thinking,
The stars tell their stories,
By being bright, and always blinking.
Stars are not like people,
This i can see with an eye,
They are always alone,
This would make me die.
In September, the stars will make you think,
of all those old school days,
But in December, the stars carry you back,
To all the Christmases you had in different ways

Daniel Lee Johnson