Fly My Pretties.

Over the silent storm
Beer couched in a sweating palm
Conversations flutter
Back and forth, back and forth.
Function follows form
As gazes swallow alarm
And toothless jibes are uttered.

Bequethed a sundered sunrise
Fly my pretties
I'd hoped for better
But the weather
Not a cloud in the sky,
And a star shining north
Like a beacon of hope.