Wish upon a star or is it a falling star to wish upon.
Is it empty first or is it empty after it’s all gone.
Do I sleep tight or do I sleep silently through the night.
To many choices, my mom used to tell me what is right.
She, the loving comfort from her mind to my mind.
I still turn to ask, to inquire, but her voice I can’t find.
Lost at times reaching for her embrace to hold,
my inner voice protects me from the empty cold.