When your Soul needs to fly look towards the Sky;
A playful Mockingbird’s humor is wry.
Looking at birds up high, my mood spry –
Shy Clouds, drifting across the sky, change…BYE.
Celestial hues fluctuate, wonder why.
As a fae cloud dissipates does it sigh – ?
Leaving Thor homeless, rain fall from an eye;
I’d like to see a Hawk’s nest, but they’re sly.
Meditation’ll get me there, by and by.
If’ I could not “have” the sky, I would die.