The Sky Is High
The sky is high
but still almost touchable
hanging just above tremulous new-green leaves
which perch themselves unsteadily on
weather worn branches
and stare downwards at
the somnolent passerby
with quiet expectation.
And the trunks of the intuitive trees
are rough with age
and warm-singing with life
and they beg to be high-climbed
so the sky can be better grasped.
But few are so bold,
and so the majestic limbs oft remain unclimed and lonely
and thus the sky untouched.