Sky

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