Dancing in the blackest sky,
between the stars pinned up with wishes,
elegant as silk in the wind,
she finds a home in her own skin.

Beacon of fire in the cold night sky,
a dying star turned blazing sun.
Ever so gracious as she glows,
moonbeams down to the Earth below.

She scans the surface but doesn't scratch,
barren and covered in dirt and mud.
Something catches her eye, a boy exiled,
there he lays, a broken child.

A sole spotlight, a moonbeam bright,
finds the boy in the dirt on a cold black night,
and the arctic winds howl,
carrying the voices of those who doubt him.