Clouds
T. A. Mennie
Gazing at the sky
The clouds drift by,
Blue sky showing though
White, gray, pink tinged from the setting sun.
Gentle winds blow
Clouds moving by
Night comes on the sweep of a cloud
The breath of the wind
Warm, tired
In need of being held
A soft caress
Lost, resting
Help me
Bring me
Release me
Dream, touch
Be my desire
I want what I cannot have
To float upon a cloud
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