Ok, if you read the Untitled not-quite-a-poem-thing, then it will save me a lot of explaining of my ignorance.
The sky is so plainly beautiful up out of reach.
The birds in the air.
The air is so crisp.
The clouds on the breeze say to me
It shall not always be.
The sky so beautiful almost in our reach.
The birds caw as they peck what they can.
The air is moist.
The clouds are gray.
The sky so sickly just above our heads.
The birds are no more.
The air heavy with decay.
Clouds cover all.
The sky is gone.
Gone are the birds.
Gone are the clouds.
Gone we are.
The sky is so plainly beautiful up out of reach.
The birds in the air.
The air is so crisp.
The clouds on the breeze say to me
It shall not always be.
The sky so beautiful almost in our reach.
The birds caw as they peck what they can.
The air is moist.
The clouds are gray.
The sky so sickly just above our heads.
The birds are no more.
The air heavy with decay.
Clouds cover all.
The sky is gone.
Gone are the birds.
Gone are the clouds.
Gone we are.
