I wonder if the stars get anxious

When the sun begins to crest

The edge of a world sleeping?

The moon of course is always touched

And on occasion visits her brother

But the star with no name

Save an account in some ancient book

Has no quarter but with darkness. 

Who notices her shimmer?

Who counts the moments she strives to shine? 

And should she weep, would even the sisters give comfort?

In briefest moments, she gives light and takes care of a wish drifting by

But twilight comes, as the celestial perfection emerges

So, I wonder, do the stars grow anxious

As do I?