SB LACROIX

I wished it here
And I watch it fly,
From the northern corner
Of the eastern sky.

The weary traveler
I had come to be,
Many lonely miles
Now far behind me.

I had touched the sky,
A glistening golden hue;
My soul was reminded
Of all it once knew.

Yet in time it faded
And it flew once more,
From the southern corner
Of the western shore.

From my book: A Dark Quill