Gardener at Heart - Book Two

Sky Writing


The sky all morning was completely blue,

As smooth and empty as a blank new page,

Till after lunch some clouds came drifting through,

Like poems written by a playful sage

About the feathers swallows use for catch,

The fluff the wind puffs out from cottonwoods,

The smoke that spirals from a blown-out match,

The soft sweet curls that halo toddlers’ hoods;

All afternoon, above the shining pines,

The sky's been slowly, silently inscrolled

With luminous illuminated lines

That dreamers lying on the grass behold:

    The ruminations of late summertime

    Have now condensed into loquacious rhyme.


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