White cotton clouds,
Blue, blue sky,
Over me,

What is this I see,
Two puppies playing,

There are several places,
Angels could be hiding,
They make themselves known,
While whistling in the wind,

But, in the depths of clouds,
There are storms brewing,

I'll just wait and see,

Thunder, as loud as dogs of Summer barking at me,

The air is thick and wet,
I've always wished I could fly away,
From the cold August rain.

Copyright © 2015 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.