Poetry
Dear Editor:
The Sky of My Youth
How blue was my sky in my youth,
And the clouds so pristine white,
The wind sang fresh and sweet,
And the sun shone golden and bright.
At night stars glittered like gems,
On darkest velvet black,
The moon was a silvery disc,
Its countenance beaming back.
But now, alas, but now,
All is in a haze,
Copper have the nights become,
And brown become our days.
Barb Baszczynski, East Garafraxa
