Every day, blue reaches make up my home,

Endless, clear, purest of light.

Everywhere, clouds surround me,

Enveloping, refreshing, softest of pillows.

Most grow sick, weary, tired

From the air, birds, smog,

But I cannot drink enough of the tanning light of the Sun,

Or the were-light from the Moon.

That is why I work in the sky.

Others do not share my dreamy hopes,

Foolish, unreal, unreachable.

Everyone claims that I will fall from my post,

Distracted, lost, unworthy.

All will one day stop doubting my strength,

In my heart, my faith, my mind.

And it is that dream that keeps me afloat,

Yet sometimes the threats are too much to bear…

But I still choose to work in the sky.

So in the sky, I stay,

Handing out flyers, messages, packages.

Up in the clouds I work,

Saving kites, planes, flocks.

And there I will always be,

Stopping storms, strikes, fighters.

For if not me to do the job,

Then who would work in the sky?