A.W. Books & Poetry

If the sky was a song, what would it be?

Would it fade and wade in pools of melody and memory?
Or drown in false longevity?
Sometimes I stare at the rare clouds and watch them dance like hares as they prance in the blue hues. To what? I cannot hear. It simply must be a song.

Faster, faster, they dance and prance as the sky sings, and the birds hymns ring through the airy abyss. I couldn’t be sure if they heard me hum along.

But alas, I stay: two feet on the Earth, looking up at heaven’s hearth in wondferful awe, While the sky dances to its wonderous song.