All is for naught, for I have finally been caught, stealing the stars from the sky. They were for you, so silvery and new, to show the care that I have. But, alas, they are gone, taken by dawn, right from my fierce little grasp. So, with that being said, I am filled with dread, for I have no gift to present. But I hope that with time, and my ability to rhyme, that eventually you will forget.