Fine But Cloudy
I must have met you
twenty thousand million years ago,
somewhere among mountains,
the peaks were streaked with snow.
I was some kind of climber,
had my haversack and rope.
I looked up and saw you,
dressed in grey, walking down a slope.
You look determined,
your concentration was on me.
The vision vanished.
That is all I was allowed to see.
Sat in my chair, you are not there,
but I see and feel you everywhere.
Today will be fine but cloudy,
the weatherman tells me on the radio.
He reads his instruments well,
for when I look out of my window,
I see it is fine but cloudy.
The clouds pass slow and high.
The sun is warm for September.
It could be July.
Aviators hone their craft in the air
while diving bells plunge to the ocean floor.
I deem it is just as much an adventure
to rise from your chair and open the door.
Sat in my chair, I look up,
and you are there.
I’ve been trying to understand it
ever since I was at school,
the history that I’m part of,
the work done by a rusted tool.
It seems some men wanted power,
others helped them steal and slay,
but those who gained the empire throne
knew nothing that they held would stay.
In the midst of it all I met you
twenty thousand million years ago.
Today is fine but cloudy,
the peaks are clear of snow.