There was nothing wrong in the sky this morning,
It was oceanblue , clear and clean,
Birdsong, the sunshine and lines of whitish appearing-disappearing.
Everything was perfect like an art of Vincent Van Gogh’s painting,
In perfect form of the sky I felt the  pain of impermanence,
I saw the art in the sky and it’s beautiful was for a second that my eyes couldn’t frame it inside my head any longer than one minute.