Fallen Stars
At this time of year the wood is full of fallen stars,
loosed from the frozen night through leafless gaps
in the thin canopy, twinkling over gently warming
earth. Nell and I run off looking for them. In February,
constellations of Lesser Celandine appear,
as though Sirius himself has splintered into tiny
yellow suns. March brought white windflowers,
and by April our walks reveal veined wood sorrel
with heart-shaped leaves. We veer off the path
at Virgo, and Mum calls after us, ‘Don’t get lost!’
Nell takes my hand. ‘The stars will show us the way
back to Mum, won’t they, Kaneesha?’ she asks.
‘Of course.’ We follow the sorrel for light-minutes.
‘Nell,’ I say, ‘just wait – soon even the sky will fall.’
loosed from the frozen night through leafless gaps
in the thin canopy, twinkling over gently warming
earth. Nell and I run off looking for them. In February,
constellations of Lesser Celandine appear,
as though Sirius himself has splintered into tiny
yellow suns. March brought white windflowers,
and by April our walks reveal veined wood sorrel
with heart-shaped leaves. We veer off the path
at Virgo, and Mum calls after us, ‘Don’t get lost!’
Nell takes my hand. ‘The stars will show us the way
back to Mum, won’t they, Kaneesha?’ she asks.
‘Of course.’ We follow the sorrel for light-minutes.
‘Nell,’ I say, ‘just wait – soon even the sky will fall.’
This poem is copyright (©) Leanne McClements 2026
About the Writer
Leanne McClements
Leanne lives in Oxford, UK, with her three sons. A former librarian, bookbinder, bookseller, and publisher, she now runs children’s services and immersive song and story sessions. She writes poetry that sparks wonder, especially when it reimagines the everyday as something wild and new. She can be found at
https://leannemcclements.carrd.co
