Wish Upon a Shooting Star

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In the dark, summer night,
I feel nothing but pure fright.
I slowly glance up to the vast sky,
wishing I could fly high.
All I can do is jut out my pink tongue,
and hope a shooting star will come.
The balls of raging fire are awfully magical,
allowing me to make wishes that are particularly radical.
I long for a bright shooting star to land on my tongue,
so I can stay happily forever young.
The wish I yearn to make is all well known,
I just want a jumbo ice cream cone. 






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