Ma Fille, Tu N'Es Pas Le Centre De L'Univers. Poem by Alison Rosalie

A child’s morning peek through the dusty glass
And the Summer has given warmth away -
Downpour drops flood the insects from the grass;
Oh, my Sky, you’re dressed in Winter today.

I tread so cautiously underneath you,
I am sharing handprints with the Glass Man.
Frightened that if I look up, he will too,
And dust will bolt down like a harmattan.

Like one impromptu move will cause alarm,
And interject our susceptible eyes.
Winning with an unwarranted disarm,
You will flare triumphant light in the skies.

But I know, Sky, you are not unstable,
And one pint-sized, dim action I perform
Will be slighter than a tragic fable
And will not fade your Sunlit uniform.

You watch an entire population,
As they rotate in a perfect revolution.
And you have seen such a falling nation
Waiting carelessly without solution.

Yes, you have seen so much poorer than me:
My untied shoes and my loving in vain.
You have heard above a blue jay’s last plea
Like the screams of a child’s penniless pain.

And even the earth’s wars and starvation
Have not altered the colour of your mood.
Sky, you’ve shown me that my Temptation
Is the least of your worries when you brood.

If you can do naught about the deprived
And neglect just one famished family,
I should not think that your tone is contrived
By my mood and my preposterous Plea.

So when I look from the sunrise window,
And come across you storming and depressed
I’ll recall the Earth, I’ll let my greed go.
And oh, my Sky, in Winter we’ll be dressed.