Dawn awoke with a rosy-cheeked blush
Embarrassed to be seen at such a time
We stroked the face of the sky
A single finger reaching toward the clouds
A hangnail barely reaching the pink
That was the blushing atmosphere

Fingers strain for the fragile atmosphere
Yearning to see an inspirational dawn
That may color our cheeks with hollow pink
And help in the passing of the time
The hour when all that surrounds is dark clouds
And what is concealed is the blossoming sky

What we are missing with our fingertips is the sky
We wish to leave a fingerprint on the fading atmosphere
The epitome of all that we ache for is hidden by clouds
The sky colored with bright, playful, teasing blush
That through each credulous moment in time
Turns into a veiled bride in pink

It contains naivete and innocence, pink
The color which adorns the face of the sky
What will destroy the guardians in white is time
And our desire to touch the fruitful atmosphere
To lay our fingers upon the cheeks that know and blush
We speak of this curtain we call “clouds”

Though who is to say all that is amiss is clouds
When all they accomplish is conceal a sweet pink?
A childlike face coated in candy blush
This is the beautiful face of the sky
Our desired, knowing, aloft atmosphere
Maybe all clouds need to escape is time

That is all there is to all, time
The unknown eclipse for the guardian clouds
Those who unknowingly blockade the atmosphere
And who pinch shut our needy eyes to the sweet pink
To our sky, our all-knowing sky
Whose face holds as much revelation as blush

To us, below the atmosphere, we yearn, more than anything, for time
The sky’s sugary blush may whisper to us, “It is them who stand before what you ache for, the clouds”
And the pink of knowledge’s cheeks says “And it is I, the sky”