In my notebook, the skies are blue,
With fluffy clouds and sunshine too.
Birds take flight with wings so wide,
Across the pages, side to side.
Raindrops dance in lines of ink,
Storms may come, but never sink.
Lightning strikes in words so bright,
Thunder rolls but ends in light.
The moon peeks out, a silver smile,
Stars twinkle dreams for a while.
My pen becomes a magic wand,
Drawing worlds that go beyond.
In this sky of words and rhyme,
I travel space and skip through time.
Each poem is a paper wing,
With stories only dreams can bring.
So when the world feels dark or gray,
I write the clouds and chase away.
The sky is mine, both big and free—
It lives in every line I see.
June, 2025
