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Skies For You
Flowers fly from
Weepy snow tombs
Like birds amidst the
Grey sea horizon
Daring the cold
To bite their color
And lick their blood
The blades of winter
And prospect of
Summer gold sun
And blue that goes on
Like what men dream of
They all colide in an array
Of paint and brushes
Who is the painter
Who is the brush
Wind of a thousand miles of sea
Salty and smooth as river stones
Falling star for to taste
And a little love
Who is the sky
Who are you?
you painted some lovely
you painted some lovely images
ron parrish