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.