Pale blue skies

• Georgia Martin, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2005

There’s no one in the corridor,
The light is all but gone,
Mist’s creeping in the windows,
The trees look sad, forlorn.
A door creaks slowly open,
Soft foot steps can be heard
As can the beat of feathered wings
From some unseen ghostly bird.
I creep towards the open door
And push it to the right,
Inside the room a fire glows
And brightens up the night.
I sit down in a wingback chair
And slowly close my eyes.
I drift into a quiet sleep
And dream of pale blue skies.