In the quiet embrace of the vast sky,
A tapestry of white floats gently,
Puffs of vapor, soft as a whisper,
Beneath the sun's golden gaze, they linger.
Mists arise, ethereal and delicate,
Shaping and reshaping, a restless dance,
A blanket of dreams stretched across the blue,
Each fold a story, untold but felt.
Amidst the sky, a billow takes form,
A congregation of thoughts, light and heavy,
Swarming like ideas in the mind's eye,
Connecting, dispersing, then gathering again.
Thunderheads emerge, dark and powerful,
Foreboding yet beautiful in their grandeur,
A nebulous promise of rain to come,
Teasing the earth with a distant echo.
Cumulus clouds drift, sculpted by winds,
Gentle giants, casting shadows below,
They mirror our fleeting moments of joy,
A reminder of time, swiftly passing, yet still.
Each cloud a vessel of possibility,
Carrying whispers from far-off lands,
A gallery of shapes, unique and fleeting,
Chasing the light, forever changing.
In the soft twilight, they blush and fade,
Colors igniting the world in soft hues,
Mundane becomes magical in their presence,
Embracing the stillness of a moment held.
As night falls, they dissolve into dreams,
While stars peek through, twinkling like thoughts,
The clouds' memory lingers in our hearts,
An endless voyage through the infinite sky.
From my lessons in Picadilly's Write the Poem
