Hanging high in the sky
Wind perking up now, as I write
Another beautiful day builds
Above, the underside of heaven
spits upon us, shaping pools
continuously reflecting its very glory
More textured than a cloud
rather, an anthology of vapor
blocking out any pure light
To many, it seems a bad day to be out
but, truth be told, it's not. The day is
losing its beauty, as the final reflections
of puddles start to shrink.
Wind was brief, if any, to begin with.
The day loses its light.
Before, when I wanted to write
this poem, you were a lighter
shade and now you have darkened.
What I'm attempting to say,
if not too convoluted entirely,
life will be like this until Spring ends
We wait in the shade of heaven