Shooting Stars

A little porch with roof and sides
Cobwebbed by overhanging leaves,
Led into that old woman's house;
Its latticed windows almost blind
From heavy leafy brows.

"Each time we see a shooting-star
A child is born on earth", she said:
"Six stars were mine, six children born,
But all my chicks are gone, and dead.

Eyes budded like a cat's by day,
They only show sufficient light
To keep her little house all clean-
And flowered full large at night.

For well it pleased that poor old soul
To see the stars give children birth,
Sitting inside her porch, alone;
Counting those babes, if any came,
And thinking of her own.