HIGH CLOUDS
The high fluffy clouds seem to play tag in the sky,
You can almost hear them laugh as the roll by,
See, four small ones come together and part again,
This time a different shape one is an air plane.
Another is a sheep, head down eating cloud grass,
The biggest a crocodile and there’s an hour glass.
Right in front, there, just lying in the desert sky
A skeletal head of a long horn, when did he die?
A child would love the teddy playing with a mouse,
Now see the smoke from the chimney of a house.
The sun looks down at the antics of each cloud,
Gazes and smiles like a parent who is proud.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson July 25, 2002