Somewhere under this sky
it's still daylite for him.
But he's asleep.
The sun will set,
for just an hour,
and he'll miss it.
He doesn't seem to mind.
He'll wake in the morning
to the sun,
high over head
and wait for a cloud to block his view.
Maybe he'll think of me
for a split second,
wonder where I am.
He's probably forgotten my name
and can't remember my face.
I hope he remembers I was once there.
I think of him,
and hope he thinks of me.
But I'll never see him
or hear him
but I often think of him
when the stars cover me
and sun showers him.