Clouds

Clouds are not lonely!

They march,

a mighty army

gathering darkly together

to hurl their sopping arrows

at the earth below.

 

Or they move majestically,

an armada,

a billowing bounty

of fine weather

fat and white,

filled with the summer winds --

they sail.

 

Or flatly lie,

rocky strata

in greys and blues

flushing to rose and flame

accompanying

the sinking sun.

 

A single lonely cloud

is never seen.

They are a brotherhood,

a magnificent multitude

that curtains the heavens,

shadows the hills

and dims the gold

of daffodils.