Gifts from the Sky

High, blue, stormy and soft
Impenetrable yet open as space
A fitting canopy for wind, rain and emotions
Providing gifts for all— not one
Its ageless continuance changing
With the start of each new day

I did not expect clouds to infringe on me
While the sun graced my childhood —
Believing that its beauty wasn’t meant for others
But who was I to feel so important?
Who was I to expect so much —
Even After love had lifted my afflictions and called me out to play?

Yes, It was so freely given, that I only looked away
Unaware of my good fortune — while living on a dairy farm
Unbound by cities or a ghetto’s flames,
Foolishly believing the past was preordained,
Never contemplating what my own actions could bring

But I still remember?

How magic were those nights camping near the big lake,
Warmed by driftwood fires
while marshmallows snapped and sparked?
We loved the sky and tasted its sweet rain
Never understanding
How its value would diminish if meant for only one!

1/17/2019
Peter W. Johnson