i know the old phrase that brings down the sea
each dawn my mind sees the words cross the sky
it haunts the sailors but doesn’t haunt me
the beauty of dawn is what i live by

it shares, red sky at night, sailors’ delight
though surely the pink Pike’s Peak wasn’t viewed
on each red morning with pink clouds so bright
i can feel my whole soul being renewed

it warns, red sky at morning, sailors give warning
missing the mountain peaks’ glorious blue
pink skies at night bring nothing but mourning
to craved-strength muscles that ache to break through

i hear old phrases with opposite terms
as i cycle my way to a new day
what’s beauty to me, to you is just worms
so i’ll take my colors and sail my way