Looking to the sky, white streaks going in all
directions, as jets continue their journeys
into the bright blue beyond.
Clouds forming higher in the atmosphere, looking
down on the jets soaring into their space,
uninvited, yet are there.
A backdrop of majestic mountains, calmly reaching
for the sky, trying to catch them with their
prickly cacti fingers.
(11: 35 a.m. - 11/30/13)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem