the sky is
crying,
and burping up
silver moons;
and somber white lilies
no one will tell me
why the sky
is grieving
perhaps they don’t know
which death is being mourned—
i wonder where the butterflies
and honeybees have gone
now that the flowers
are coming back
to life
every day i walk to and from work
i am smelling the fragrance
of spring,
and i miss the mighty golden
guardian the sun;
for he could cut through my blinds
make me smile
remembering my life isn’t so bad
in the grand scheme of things
even on my worst days.
The Cabinet of Heed 