When I stepped out today,
I was not expecting the ocean to look so gray,
Nor the cries of the gulls
To match so perfectly with the outline of distant oceanliner’s hulls.
There are birds flying high above,
And part of me wishes Peace would send me her Dove.
Though I am so busy sitting here, writing this poem
That perchance I might miss the omen.
The clouds are collecting secrets
On the nature of human weakness;
They are amassing for war at their gathering,
While I paint them and wonder if this is the right moment to be capturing.
I am probably giving them more fodder,
But ‘tis true that I am the Mother Earth’s daughter,
And I could not resist the temptation
To watch them as they imagine the world below, forsaken.