When on a walk one early summer morn
A man began to think of life beyond
He paused to watch while children so forlorn
Seemed occupied in games they thought so fond.
While certain parts of life seem unattained
If standing here today would measure love
Then all the man would need to feel restrained
Might be a song, a cooing of a dove.
Where have the days begun to slide away
A man who stands alone knows no despair
Yet when the people call there is this way
The sky becomes the answer though we swear.
To gather storms to help define a sky
Would leave the afterward a silent cry.