On a Falling Star

A poem (or Saturday morning conversation)

My daughter came downstairs carrying a star.
Not a fiery ball of cosmic fusion, 
Just a plastic sticker that glows from the wall,
One of a consolation constellation
To keep a bedroom just bright enough for sleep.

"It fell" she said, shaking it down to the floor.
Me: "What wish are you going to make on it?"
"You can't wish on it, Dad. It's too small for that.
You can only wish on real stars—a big one,
Or a galaxy, which has billions of stars."

Me: "What would you wish upon a galaxy?"
Her: "Well, we live in a galaxy right now,
And our earth is the only planet with life."
"So your wish is to be here with all the trees 
And bears and bees?" She smiled with toothless knowing.

How like a child of six to understand
That wishing for what you can't imagine
Is a recipe for disappointment;
That the best gift we could wish for is here,
Waiting for eyes to see it as it is.