I’d like a different sky before I die
The southern cross, the magic northern lights,
A tropic moon through palm trees, like a pie,
The jagged blue left by Mt. Everest’s bites.
And from a distance, on the Kansas plain,
I’d like to see a rope descend and swell.
And somewhere in the Rocky Mountain chain
Sit watching while a blizzard works its spell.
I’d like a different path before I die –
Boone-blazed, through Wilderness, his road;
Or tread where elephants against the sky
Crossed Alps with Hannibal their brazen load;
Or march scorched earth – Atlanta to the sea
Where Sherman and his locusts laid all waste;
And contrast that with Paul’s first ministry
Till all his journey I have then retraced.
A different place to stand before I die
Would let me see the world through others’ eyes –
Where first Balboa did Pacific spy,
Where Cook stood looking at his North Pole prize.
I’d like to stand, considering man’s fate
Where Jesus wept o’er doomed Jerusalem;
And look to Earth, and heaven contemplate
From where stood Armstrong on his podium.
I’d like a different me before I die
A little less of all that’s cold and hard,
A serving more of love and humble pie,
A softer me that’s nothing like a shard.
In living then, I must be on my way;
I have no certain schedule like a train.
Tomorrow is not promised, just today.
The now of Time as king will ever reign.
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.