Mystical whites soaring in blue,
Carefree and divine,
Drifting their time away
As if the kings of skies.
They are not always grave,
A certain humor takes over
And clouds create a myriad of faces,
Only visible to eager eyes.
They are all over me,
As the fibers take form.
But I don’t seem to take notice
Of the piercingly silent affections.
And sometimes they are grey,
brimming with pearly droplets.
A welcome sight – as though telling me,
“Dark times don’t always bring bad news!”