Poem about clouds

Today they are in the shape of a bear.

Yesterday they were in the shape of a giraffe.

Heart-shaped.

As a child I enjoyed the view.

And I still enjoy.

Who draws it?

Who checks how it is drawn?

Does anyone draw at all?

Wind.

The wind is that artist.

The wind is like a magic wand,

makes works of art.

How it makes them,

that's how it breaks them up.

It just blows and everything disappears.

Sometimes they know how to frown.

When they get angry,

they become so black and gray.

And the day becomes night.

If we make them angry, it will rain and rain.

They usually say that when we're in love we fly,

right through them.

Somehow they keep us safe.

Because they are always above us.

Clouds.

Author: Musician

Thanks a lot for reading.

Lead image source: unsplash