A blue black cloud, all over me is written JOY
in the script of vapor, dense, moist and meaningful,
I am light, like a feather, the breeze is in love with me for that,
I love his gentle persuasion to waft, move about, explore..
and then--ravaged by wind my love changes direction.

I love freedom more than anything, but forgot limits, hover
now, I am no more attached to the green hills, they are jealous,
far above them am I, untouched by their vainglorious pride,
I am not hard-hearted, parched fields send shivers of lightning
break me in to thousand  smaller pieces, scatter around.

My love for this earth is kindled by the sights unfurling below
all the egrets, cormorants, storks and herons of great magnificence,
those kind hearted friends that fly with me often are in pain
like the farmers, there isn't enough water for anything.

A cloud is a thought, inspired by the love for mother earth
by the ocean I am gifted to the breeze, to tour around,
on many lands fell my shade, found life in all varieties,
now is the time to be kind at heart, melt, fall in torrents.

what a radiant soul she is,
do you hear her sing?
  
She is slender, strong
and comes alive beneath your fingertips;
you lean into her
and she notices it,
she notices you.
  
the sound grows larger in her throat
so she swallows it,
crawling burning cold hot to her heart
and she feels it,
she feels you.
  
the pain sets her on fire like a star,
she screams your name, she screams into the dark;
your stare is silent, biting back the words
but she knows them,
she knows you.
  
what a lonely soul she is,
do you hear her sing?

She lifts her head to the
Darkening sky, as her
Beautiful eyes begin to cry.
The gentle rain caresses

Her face, while her broken
Heart beats at an unsteady pace.
She waits for the healing of her pain to
Begin, as she listens to the whispering

Of the gentle blowing Wind.
All of her sadness is too much to bare,
As she sends her desperate prayers
Into the lingering air.

Her heart is truly shattered,
But no one can see,
As she waits beneath the weeping willow tree.

Over the garden you droop,
crooked fingers
point in every direction.

When summer's gone
you shake, a wet dog,
the grass strewn with shrivelled waste.

"Not so young anymore",
a weaker wrinkled body
battered by almost all weathers.

A faded jade jacket
covers your naked figure
as the cold days come closer.

From my window I look,
and your strands of hair
nearly scrape the sky.