The clouds float on the blue,
with a painter's touch;
the sun plays peek-a-boo,
and isn't seen too much.

I marvel at the composition,
that fills my heart with joy;
at Nature's whims and fancies,
of which she now employs.

Much better than a Rembrandt,
more polished than Van Gogh;
there is a touch of wonderment,
of which I do not know.

There is a stroke of God,
that frames the lovely scene;
that captures all the magic,
on which my soul does lean.

On which my thoughts do rest,
instills me with its peace;
that moves my heart with pleasure,
with silent, splendid ease.