Seven and Seven

A forlorn star up in the sky cried and cried, oh what a pity. No matter how it is I try, stars with five points, so pretty, and snowflake stars, easy on the eye, so elegant and witty, will always little boys enchant when a seven-pointed star can't. One night, the seventh of July, a strange and lonely boy was born below a clear and starry sky. Abandoned in a field of corn, he wished upon a star so high, but he remained sad and forlorn till his light shone from the heavens. He could hear and see in sevens.