Pete Crowther - A Window Seat

Five miles high
in our chartered jet
we fly in Fairyland,
all shining light, the
sky sea-bright, and
blue as lapis lazuli;
white as Dover’s cliffs, clouds
form a floor — a field of floating ice
below, so cold, so pure
like summer
in Antarctica
before mankind.


Pete Crowther

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-window-seat/