The fire is set…let it rain.
Sprinklers on the ceiling spit,
Out the waters of the sky,
Which stands above the heads that sit,
Under this big white roof and cry.
Some are looking at the floor,
Thinking of their yesteryears,
And how time passed by so fast.
In the joys of their many years,
Their hope and love had grown so vast.
Some are looking at the walls,
Pondering the hour and day.
Will someone come visit them,
And help them bide the hours away?
Will any out there think of them?
Some are looking at the ceiling,
Dreaming of drifting clouds of white,
In warm, pleasant days of summer.
The beep of a bike horn stirs their sight,
As they ride ‘neath azure skies of summer…
K. Aldaya, 4/12/16