What can bring darkened thoughts,
When I'm staring at this sky?
What dark reverie can dissolve the light,
Brought by that blue sky?
The bright rays of gold and paled blue,
Are painted with a gentle turn of wrist.
The green grass below,
Is dappled with gold reflections of the sun.
From a windowsill,
I watch it slowly melt the black,
Of the midnight's glow,
With stretching wings.
Light paints the colors of dawn,
Like an artist slowly creating a perfect drawing.
I watch silently,
By the windowsill.
That sky brings hope,
And in these moments,
Dark rays can be swept away.
The bright colors of that sky,
Are like ribbons of gold.
Watching from my room,
I can see dawn repaint a once dark sky.
The silver-ribboned clouds are now cotton-shaped.
With a gentle tune ringing by as I hum,
I'll step from here to there in some time,
And watch the remaining few flowers lift tired faces toward the sun.
In the Winter,
Trees can only reach a crooked hand upward,
Not yet bearing blossoms and bloom.
Still, the gold shines through their empty branches,
Through an empty canopy,
To cover their forms.
To paint this to image,
I write these words.
The vividness is bright and happy,
A sketching of beauty.