YELLOW SKY

Oh, painter of pictures, and singer of songs,
And…..weaver of golden dreams……
Come back to me, from years that are glown-
Come back, on memories road to Home-
In the gold, of that old “Yellow Sky”.

When we came where lies the grave
Where subtle SHELLY slept-
Poetry, just bowed her head-
Paused an hour…….and wept.

When we came, where lies the grave,
Wher subtle SHELLY died-
Poetry, only bowed her head-
Paused an hour…..cried.

So we wander down the lanes,
Poetry, and I, I am old,
And SHE is young-
As the summer sky.

And when we came beside the grave,
Where SHELLY lies, to sleep,
She just waits a while, with me,
Pauses there…………to weep.

Youth is “Just a little while”-
Age is long, and dim-
SHELLY kept his laughing “Youth”-
SHE LIES THERE…..YET…..WITH HIM.

Poetry knows all these songs-
As the winds, that roam,
Every note, willl cry and call-
On the road to Home.

Painter of pictures, and singer of songs,
Weaver of “Golden Sky”-
Stay with me, though the years are gone-
NEVER….SAY…..GOODBYE.

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