Stars Hung on a String - A Poem of Memories

My life is a string of fairy lights,
stars hung on a string.
Plucked by the hand of a recollection,
each flicker a different memory.

Of late night walks and smell of jasmine,
pungent in the air.
The coloured glow of Christmas lights,
dance through the grass into the night.

I see the glow again, from the sky this time,
we’re lying on the pebbles, water lapping at our feet,
warm bodies pressed next to each other,
some of us asleep.

The late-night trips spent driving, back from Sydney,
my young face turned toward the stars, telling my father,
‘I’m the star whisperer’,
and humming along to the rhythm of tyres.

It’s in the early mornings that I look up again,
as I skate down empty streets,
woken birds with lilting tweets,
dawn closes over the brightest spark.