the sky meets your eye, sweet angel of mine,
and everything you see is gold, in love
with your brightest shine like a glove, above,
warming your sound, shape, your form and mind.
there’s no question: when only you are seen,
you see, find, there is nothing you displeases—
but when there are pictures like diseases,
you run—run—far far there from the obscene.
else all is jaded, your light missed, waiting,
like earth on the sun, turning through darkness,
the moon it’s savior-guardian, building,
with the colors he knew by you Greatness.
and we can take turns, through each stage and phase;
when the one shines bright, both do, through the days.