Watch The Skies

Do you ever wonder of what they're made

Are the blues painted fresh every day?

Will the white strokes laid create cloudy shade

Or has yellow just been put away?

Does a pretty pink morning mean trouble's ahead

Will there be a red rain later on?

Does black velvet instead leave this thought underfed

Where could millions of stars just have gone?

Cigar tubes with wings are miraculous things

As their vapour trails push them along

And as blackbird sings the pure joy that it brings

To be grounded just starts to feel wrong

One day the angels will lend me their flight

But for now I've a fair compromise

Though the time may be right, expect one last fight

Until then, I shall just watch the skies...