All forms of a rhyme scheme have been thrown out of my window because it is an outline and no one dictates the movements of my hand or my mind.

---

Today I walked the streets
With much more clarity
Than before I used
In my daily routine

The colors of the ground
Were all dark and all bare
As my comrades' faces
Were placid without care

I stopped to wonder why
They never had eyes upturned
To the blues, the violets, the reds;
The colors of the sky

I turned to a youth so mild
That his eyes were much lowered
And of him I inquired,
"Why not gaze upon the sky?"

And then replied the boy,
"Sir, it is depressing."
Maybe he was not so coy
Was what I soon realized

So then I left the streets
To ponder his words
The next day I said,
"My boy, not to the birds."