They were always up there, when
Moments of cognitive reflection started,
Gathering they went from white to grey.
They would start to think, rumbling
As Liquid thought meet with ice
Particles of deliberation.
Then thoughts would strike from their
Being to the solid below, it would be the
Beginning of words as gravity took hold.
Precipitation fell, first thoughtful drizzle,
Then as words spoken, each raindrop
Was voiced on the terrain below.
They uttered for what seemed like a
Deluge, their words flowed down
Streams and rivers to the waiting sea.
Words spent, that flowed no longer, not
Talked but evaporating skywards to the
Waiting white, to be spoken once more.
When clouds talk this is what is the result.
