Clouds

As strong winds scud across the sky,

tall cumulus are piling high,

their massive thunder-headed shapes

with threatening disposition mate

and send their frightening warning sounds,

the thunderclaps, that echo round the atmosphere.

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Skies vibrate and thunder rumbles,

bolts of lightning flash and tumble.

From storm-tossed firmaments above,

Valhalla's Thor, with iron glove,

dispatches from his heavenly portals

sounds to terrify poor mortals.

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Like dancers in a pas de deux

soft breezes drift in skies of blue.

Like painted feathers caused by zephyrs,

cirrus clouds now float untethered;

un-anchored by an earthly weight,

they drift in time and float in space.

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When sunset comes at end of day,

 then tinged with gold, clouds turn away

to sail like galleons of old,

on starlit oceans, chill and cold;

to chase the planets and conceal;

to hide the moon and then reveal

its silver phosphorescent light

that brings such wonder to the night,

then things as trivial as I

shall ever wonder at the sky.-