In the sapphire of the sky,
Above the changing faces.
As if in a dream so way up high,
Through water vapor mazes.
He glides, he soars, upon the air,
With no effort or so it seems.
A tiny speck with nary a care,
Yes it is the stuff of dreams.
Higher and higher, where nothing flies,
The blue is his domain.
He is the master of the skies,
On sunny days or rain.
Like a spirit freed, from it's Earthbound life,
He soars up high and free.
Cutting through the clouds like a shiny knife,
So high now I can't see.
10/5/11 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellet poem... Well written(master of the skies) ... I like this one..