As you walk in, I see
The ceiling rise up
Above our heads
I look up to find
The roof, arching its back
Toward the heavens
Can you see this?
Or is it just my eyes,
Playing tricks on me?
I tilt my head back again
Expecting to find
Wooden beams stretching
Their mahogany arms
Up and away
But instead, I see that
Spotless blue that
The sky becomes on that
Perfect Day
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