The sky: an ever-changing canopy,
Endless variety.
Black at night,
Punctuated only by stars and moonlight,
And clouds by day.
Cloud-ships sail along an invisible sea,
Scowling black clouds,
Or fluffy white palaces of snow.
No end of shapes and forms,
Yet sometimes formless mists.
Clouds that are net curtains
In the window to space,
Or growling black monsters
Firing deadly lightning-forks.
If we’re lucky,
There aren’t any clouds at all,
Just blue from horizon to horizon
Everywhere you see.
Golden-red dawns and sunsets
Contrast well with deepest blues
All colours and hues.
By night and day, Moon and Sun
Play Peekaboo behind those clouds.
And stars forever twinkle and swirl
Along the Milky Way.
No words can adequately capture
The beauties of the sky,
It just gives God’s Believers
Every Reason Why.
Paul Butters
Love that sky.
