Cloud to the North, you blow back and forth.
Cloud in the South, you look like my mouth.
Cloud to the East, you growl like a beast.
…but cloud in the West, oh you are the best!
You look like a clown, but not one with a frown.
One with a grin, and wild laughter therein.
A clown with a nose as red as it goes.
And hair wild like Don King brimful of Rum-Sling.
I could watch you forever, but that’s not allowed.
Oh how I’ll miss you, my friend the clown-cloud.
© Mark Peacock. 2009