Counting our days and watching our designated time,
Ticking into infinite void.
No one there to see us standing stoically,
With melancholy in our grieving heart,
No one there to caress our load of loneliness.
Perhaps a lazed swirl of cloud would,
Or a ray of light from a reclining sun,
Or an eddy of breeze lapping on our wrinkled face.
Life is a tree under an open sky,
Another life is our canopy.
Copyright – Ali Sobree @ AisKOOL June 2010
