It's times like this that I
wonder to myself,
What's he doing? Is he sick, or in good health?
And look up at the sky the color of tainted snow
And realize that I'll never know.
You see there is really no time
This knowledge to be missed,
For I suppose that there will never be
Another time like this.
Author's Notes: This poem was written on a dank Florida morning, just after I woke up. I was having a Philosophical Moment (tm). (*g*) Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it (and knew what I was trying to say!). ~Mistress Jakira