It’s hard to tell from way up here:
the sea in sunshine sparkles blue
and stretches far into the clear
where misty white obscures the view
of foam where ocean meets the land
towards where boats with glistening trails
approach the miles of yellow-white sand
below the wisps cast by contrails
which dissipate mysterious fumes
invisible as wind in ancient sails
to fill a gravity beholden room
which some decry is off the rails
while others will proclaim our doom
and yet more still cry “fairytales!”
But all the way from way up high
I soar above the rainbow fields
the patchwork tulips please my eyes
the oilseed boasts of bountiful yields
which in my thirty years on earth
have rarely ever seen decline
but sadly this can’t spare the dearth
of meadows in this land of mine
where flowers once were wild and free
unlike the wheat or cows or sheep
and trees were spread abundantly
though still I don’t find cause to weep
For happiness grows in the fields
unnaturally sown
and from my vantage point up here
I cannot be alone
in contemplating what we’ve lost
but also what we’ve gained
and surely if we learned to fly
we’ll conspire to make things better again.
