The Night Sky Poem by Roger A. Rose

I lay on my back, gazing at the majesty of the ebony sky;
playing connect-the-dots with the silver spots,
drawing pictures with my mind.
Clouds whisk by, sculpted by unseen winds in whimsy,
fantasy figures painted on heavens' canvas,
as real as imagination renders.

Here, bathed in a warming breeze, comforted by mother earth,
limbs have ceased the ache of oppressive years,
and youthful thoughts return anew.
I lay as the boy from the picture in my parents room,
with my forearm across my eyes, one leg drawn up,
to ponder with melancholy.

Many the night as an expectant lad had I lain like that boy;
fanciful thoughts sailing with gossamer clouds;
young dreams dancing among the stars.