Clouds

The clouds, they drift and dance above,

A canvas of white, a sky full of peace.

They change and shift with every breeze,

A living painting that never leaves.

Sometimes they're fluffy, sometimes they're flat,

Sometimes they're wispy, sometimes they're fat.

But no matter what form they take,

They're always there, a constant escape.

They're a reminder of the world above,

A place of peace, a place of sleep.

So when you see the clouds up high,

Take a moment to breathe, to smile, to sigh.

If I could sleep on the clouds, I would sleep through the world.

Kiss Csenge XII. H