Oh, imagine the night sky as a living library of glittering poems, each star a shimmering line that you could read as the wind whispers through the trees. We’d wander under constellations that tell us stories, chase after the brightest verses that glow like fireflies. Maybe the whole world would be a never‑ending reading adventure, where bedtime becomes stargazing and every evening brings a new rhyme from the cosmos. It’d feel like living in a dreamscape where the universe itself is a storyteller, and we’re all eager readers on the edge of our seats, waiting for the next sentence to sparkle into existence.