“
Would you look at the number of stars out tonight?
I can’t think when I’ve ever seen starlight so bright.
You can see why they say it’s romantic, alright, all those men with flamenco guitars.
Can you find what your ancestors pictured up there?
Can you pick out hte archer, the dog, and the bear?
Do you know that the starlight is crowning your hair with the wealth of the last of the czars?
I don’t know how much stargazing’s ever been worth
I can’t tell if the heavens acknowledge the earth
But it seems like a star did a dance at your birth
Tell me, what do you make of the stars?
Do you dream of a day when a rocket appears
and you scramble aboard and discover the gears,
and the next thing you know,
you’re a thousand lightyears from this strange little planet of ours?
When you look out the window, and what do you see?
Is it anything like you thought it would be?
They say traveling is broadening, don’t you agree?
Tell me, what do you make of the stars?
If you go, I should warn you that somewhere in space,
there’s a great big blackhole with a scowl on his face,
and he’s eating the stars at a furious pace,
just like you go through chocolate bars.
I don’t want you to worry, but what would you say,
if you woke up some otherwise wonderful day
to be told that a blackhole is heading your way?
Tell me, what do you make of the stars?
When we’re young we like anything firey and bright
like the fourth of july, or a christmas tree light
we strike big kitchen matches although it’s not right
and stick glowworms in mayonnaise jars
And someday we grow older, as most people do
We look up at the stars, and they’re no longer new
So we’ve got to ask somebody little like you,
Tell me, what do you make of the stars?
—
Poem by Ben Taylor
