I looked outside this morning
Just when the world began to stir
A pale blue sky rose from the jagged outline
of trees and hills
and stretched from there to reach
the breadth of my scanning eye-
too blue to be a baby's blanket.
The kind of blue a traveler meets
when rising for a long day's journey;
a blue that deepens into deeper blues
as the day becomes full-blown
like a poppy field at noon.
No bird, no cloud, no flying thing is bold enough
A blue of robins' eggs.
A blue of bluebirds' wings.
No blue of faint nostalgia of a sad song's singing
but of a protest song of hope.
A pale blue canvas upon which God has granted
me a brush and palette
to paint my day upon.