Shine down on me, starry night,
Shower your blues and yellows;
Transcend death into your light;
I’ll wait until it all mellows.

Your buildings are cut and dry,
Blue-grey trees keeping them soft,
There’s one great star asking, why
Black brush strokes hold the sky aloft?

Faith falls short in my belief;
Nature becomes the pillars;
Trees big and small give relief
People are silent killers.

Starry night, kindly, be kind
And merge these lines into one;
Leave not a sole stroke behind
Beautify what you’ve begun.