Clouds, clouds aren’t really clouds;
Clouds are stockings stuffed with gifts
which strew the skies like crowds
Waiting to trickle, trickle, trickle down tiny droplets of gifts
Rain, rain isn’t really rain;
Rain is whatever one wishes it to be:
parties, pastries, pictures, beauty without pain
Benz, Bema, Bugatti, Bentley
The cloud and the rain are feigned
Umbrellas are magic marshmallows;
The wailing wind, whining trees, and widening seas are strained;
Lighten’ are miles of candle-lights shin’ wild and bright, wish of them a million more 'morrows
Look at the perching bird descending;
Listen to the chirping thunder singing,
And thus remember, the cloud and the wind are feigned the cloud and the wind are feigned.
K