In life after death,
I’ll sit in the clouds.
Picking up stars
and throwing them down.

Toddlers will scream,
and parents will sigh.
Snow is like stars
falling out of the sky.

Maybe instead
I’ll throw shattered glass.
Shimmering white
as they cover the grass.

People will sing
“Let it snow, Let it snow.”
As the mounds on the ground
continue to grow.

Along with the stars,
I can cut up some lace.
Everyone hopes
it will land near their place.

Once twilight comes
They’ll ask, “Where are the stars?”
While I look on the ground
and know where they are.