I wished it. Now it’s happened.
Does that make it my fault?

I willed and wanted.
A selfish revolt.

Then, thinking bad,
And how it should be.

Now thinking good,
How good it was for me.

Which star was it that I wished on that night?
Which star will it be that will make it all right?

My silent error, in judgement of strength,
Of the owners of answers to requests unbent.

©Julie Proudfoot