Crescent moon in blue cloud sky
like silent loon without a sigh.
Carpet floors across from carpet floors,
metal door next to metal door,
book upon book upon book,
and students in the hall.
Walking through the halls of time
spotting friends to make a rhyme.
Rain drops drip
from clouds that tip
towards the west
of Maine.
Green leaves fall
upon the forest floor
from oak trees tall
of ancient lore.
Outside the window
lies green field,
students running
after dreams.
Once upon a time,
a small green lime
bought with nickel and a dime,
a dime and nickel, yes, a dime,
the price for a lime,
back in the time.
Three bars across the ceiling
shed light upon the room.
They are not wide, but they are long,
each school day witness to a song.
Voices out the window,
my teacher with his paper.
All these things I notice
as the summer wavers.
Do mountains soar for no reason,
are butterflies in vain?
No, no I say to you,
the mountains soar for God,
the butterflies His glory.
