Nostalgia.

When I was young, I collected clouds in tin pots when it rained.
I traced rainbows with my finger, in the sky they stained.
In my palms, I trapped little stray beams of light
And together, they made such a beautiful sight.


When the sun fell, Someone filled the sky with scattered stars.
I would count each one, finding them, so lovely and bizarre.
To them and blades of grass, I told my tales.
Huge kingdoms, handsome princes, and laughter in gales.


That time is gone, my stories are done
But in my heart, I still know, that when the sun
Falls, the stars wait for that little child
Who once told them of adventures, mighty and mild.