Azure,
You are so beautiful in the Summer morning
as the first fingers of sunlight streak across the horizon,
or when whispers of stratus gently scarify your vault,
or at high noon when, in the desert heat, you are totally unblemished,
or when at twilight you change like a chameleon,
mackerel and nimbus basking in your reflected glory,
or when distant skeins row their effortless way across the horizon,
or when the stars of evening come into being
as if for the first time,
and when the broken clouds curve upwards in perfect arc,
stained by the setting Sun,
a promise of some rare, new world far beyond.
Azure,
You rouse me from my melancholia,
that even the most miserable of men
with eyes to see can enjoy your splendour,
that even the most wretched heart be moved
from loneliness and sorrow,
that even the most rational of minds
be struck dumb
with wonder.