The Sky's a Stage

The night had been cool, the
sky so clear it seemed as though
we could reach up, stretch a bit,
and a little more, to grasp
the handle of the Little Dipper
and spill the fiery stars it held
upon our heads and the Stygian
night below. When morning dawned
the landscape was sodden with
heavy dew, all that was left
of the spilled contents of the
tantalizingly beckoning dipper.
As dawn entered, she ushered
the sun to dry the dew and
warm the landscape. Soon, a 
crowd of clouds shuffled into 
view, bickering among themselves
for the valued privilege of
challenging the sun on its throne
of imperial rule and rudely
intruded to shield the world
below from the pleasure of
light, warmth and beauty,
insisting garrulously on their
turn in the theatre of the sky,
with the thundering bombast
of their drum roll heralding
triumph of aggression over
harmoniously placid content,
showering down upon us
lightning, sleet and fury.