From that carved and aged wood pew,

From the creaks and sighs

I gazed up

At Baroque Skies-

Skies abound with glory and light;

It felt like fantasy

For the ones I knew

Were nice, but not

Baroque Skies

Yes, here:

Far from familiarity,

The middle of nowhere, but

Yet the center of everything

Raised high on parish ceilings

These Baroque Skies

Glowed with-

Yes, that feeling!

The awe of ages past;

Of painters who loved

The Heavens

And their creator

The skies outdoors,

I knew- so I thought,

Were plain, occasional white on blue

As always, but

Here, beams of light drifted and danced

And the hems of clouds were of glimmering gold

An angel’s abode

The home of heroes of the stories;

Against a backdrop

That was as deep and blue as the seas

Lovely, these Skies

That were not mine

Soon, back home I was

And my Skies cycled on by;

Light, then dark

There with me these memories of

Baroque Skies

A sea away, but before my eyes

Ones that could never, so I thought, be mine

But in those cycling Skies

I looked up at

Mornings and noons and nights

These Skies that were mine, I learned

Were lovely

Baroque, practically

Here they were

With beams of golden light,

Shining right

Though the clouds;

And waving arrays

Of tones and shades-

How unreal they were!

The dabs and strokes of a brush,

Painted on the Heavens

By an eternal Artist:

A taste for those who await

Paradise

Here they had been

My life long;

Not only on ceilings done by the masters

Miles upon miles afar, but

They were above me

Right in my home:

My Baroque Skies-

I had only overlooked

Looking up

To the Skies I did not know were

Baroque

If only,

These Skies were mine…

Had only I known then

That they are

Much more than I

Knew, I

Would have seen my

And loved my

Baroque Skies

By Elisabeth Smith ‘28, Co-Assistant Editor-in-Chief

28esmith@montroseschool.org