Scope of the Sky
I miss the sound of crows in the morning, and the smell of earth by the road.
These things remain. I'm the thing that changed.
Where, oh where did I go?
I don't know when I first cast my eye
away from the cloud-brushed and unending sky
and found instead trifles.
Doing and having. Paying and owing. Going and getting.
When did I forget that the whole world is mine,
in a place with no place for should and must try....
in the call of the crows, the smell of the earth,
and the unending scope of the sky.
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