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The Spike or Victoria College Review June 1930

Under The Patchwork Sky

Under The Patchwork Sky

There's a tang in the frolicsome wind,
There's a lure in the wind-blown heath,
With above the white cloud scudding by,
And the wind-blown trees beneath.

There's a lure in the bright Spring day,
When the wind is blowing high,
When the whole world seems to say,
Come out here, where the white clouds play
And wander beneath the sky.

I think I will go there now,
Out under the Patchwork sky,
Where the white, white clouds go scudding free,
Like great white ships on an azure sea,
And I feel that I alone am nigh—
Out there—'neath the Patchwork sky.

—J.A.C.