Cloud

In skies above, they dance and play, The clouds, in graceful, wispy array. Painted strokes of cotton white, Against the canvas of day and night. They billow high, like mountains tall, Or skim the heavens in a gentle sprawl. Each one a story, a fleeting dream, In nature's grand, celestial scheme. At dawn, they blush in rosy hues, At dusk, they wear a golden muse. They catch the sun's warm, tender kiss, A tender moment, we'd surely miss. They shift and swirl, a waltz on air, A ballet of beauty, beyond compare. They hold the rain, a precious gift, To bless the earth, a life uplift. In silver threads or shades of gray, They silently drift, then fade away. Yet leave a mark on hearts below, A reminder of beauty, a constant show. So let us gaze with awe-struck eyes, At clouds that paint our endless skies. For in their dance, a tale unfolds, Of nature's grace, a story untold.