Too High Poem by Ernestine Northover

Above the cloud lies a yellow sun sky,
Where all appears clear, nothing passing by,
Too high for the birds when upon the wing,
Too high for a phone to so harshly ring,
What peace reigns there, gone away all the strains,
Of a life commuting on planes and trains.

Above the cloud there is just endless space,
Nothing to plague you, liberty’s embrace.
Too high for one’s everyday problems there,
Too high, so one wouldn’t have a care
What a freedom we would suddenly find,
By leaving this earthbound land far behind.

Above the cloud is one glorious day,
So how about we go there right away.


© Ernestine Northover