I watched a lovely cloud,
drifting merrily on,
small, cotton white was he,
as though he was just born;
Then, of all the horrors,
a ******* cloud appeared,
this ugly ate my friend,
which promptly disappeared!
Poor Whitey was now gone,
Blacky finished my friend
whom I knew just did not
deserve that brutal end;
So why must beauty end?
Why cannot it endure?
Must beauty always fade,
even when it’s pure?