I still dream of greyer skies And wake up sighing I can’t help but feel That they are calling. I don’t want to go Along with the flow. The sky is calling Her wanderer home. Outside the sky is shining I look up crying Wondering if or when The sky is going To spit me out again I don’t want to go Along with the glow. The sky is stalking Her outlaw alone. This sky or that, Rainy or bright, Watches over my Various escapes Escapades and Fills the lakes of My desire to be Somewhere freerer, Somewhere safer, Somewhere unmired From the higher power That sits up there Gathering dust And prayers. Heaven knows, They are one And the same. In the burning And the rain. “Sky! Hide me!” I command or call. But the sky is silent I look up. It looks down. It replies “The watching is all.” I don’t want to go Along with the show. The sky is watching Her subject belong.
“The watching is all.” …tends to be the way of much of the world.
Ain’t that the truth, my friend! Happy New Year…hopefully!