His clear eyes might have spoke Gaelic, <br />But were skilled, in the language of one, <br />As he held the bobbing world on a string- <br />Just inches, from the spectre of sun. <br /> <br />There was a crash like my heart falling, <br />Though soundless, like a foot through ice; <br />The sky swallowed all, left a few staring stars- <br />Cloistered, like nuns viewing vice. <br /> <br />Was centuries ago, or some minutes; <br />But I've not got the presence of mind, <br />After meeting my demise, in a clear pair of eyes, <br />I keep thinking it's clear skies, I'll find.<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clear-skies-7/
