Have you ever thought,
That every poem born,
Is   l i f e ?

They grow an  i n ch
For every soul they touch.
And as they age, senile
Emotions once felt,
T h e y   d i e.

You see,
In people's lives
There are a lo t  of  s ta rs
left  *u n to u ch e d
And if they sparkle
A t  ni g h t,
Know that, it is
the wr i t er 's   s o ul
That gives it spark, but it is
the  re a d er's  he a r t
That makes it  s h i ne .
And the one
Who makes it fall,
Are those who wish you
The b e s t s  in  l i fe .