Passing Peace

In what of counting numbers can float I
Among the blue and Sun and royal sky?
‘Tis not unlike of men below to burn
That which is beautiful and treasured so;
To dirty this abode in black, and churn
What coin shall bless or curse of it in show;
Such damning children who will never learn!
But of what knowledge lends itself to me?
I am a simple wanderer above
Who grants thee peace or rain or stormy seas,
But who, even still, feels a lover’s love
To mine own home in which I walk and be.
What think’st thou when thou see’st my passing form
Except illusioned warrants of thy norms?