From Andrew Barrett

Do clouds sleep as they stroll the skies?
While their haunting beauty is outlined by full moon

Yet with morning dew still on the ground
They awaken without a yawn, stretch or sound
With life not always knowing that they are there
They look down with a devious stare

A suspicion is aroused that when they huddle together
That they are plotting
For only they can decide the weather

Passive white turns to undecided grey
Which seems an omen for the rest of the day
Afternoon departs as blackness overlaps
With an open arm to the wind
Storm cloud also invites lightening in

Smothered light fades shadows
With darkness drawing nigh to weep
As storm clouds explode
Rain falls heavily toward those that sleep

© Andrew Barrett

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