Glittering, flickering rainbows of light
Chasing around the clouds.
The ancients would respect such an omen in the skies,
A message from a god who speaks a language
We now refuse the time to understand or even recognise.
Time was even the rainbow meant something –
A grave covenant with a listening world in awe.
Now only the astronomers stop and stare,
Look up in delight to analyse and compare
And add this phenomenon to their lists.
Under the spinning, sparkling, shimmering lights,
Mothers hurry children onward home
And stop them staring at the sky.
But the children somehow understand
This power of the heavens reaching out,
Demanding their time to be still and watch.
They know it will be fish fingers again tomorrow,
But mother of pearl clouds not for twenty years.
Previously published in Acumen