Clouds, they live in a theatrical realm
Behind nights curtain they quietly roam
Rehearsing their parts without a sound
Till mornings sun greets dew laden ground
They play their part drifting on a breeze
Without so much as a care, if you please.
Vanishing at times then appearing bigger
Doing as they wish, I’ve now come to figure.
They travel where their heart desires
Valley and mountains windy spires
High above oceans, the sun plays a part
Shadows created that randomly dart
On and on the mist does travel
Over beaches sand and variegated gravel
Canyons of streets and high building tops
Cloud shadowed concrete that never stops
Back road towns and dusty roads
Flower covered fields where color explodes
Under the mottled noon day sky
These thespian clouds go rolling by
Playing their part ‘til curtain drop
O’ wondrous mist this play must stop
Though once again behind nights veil
Rehearsing tomorrows misty tale.
© Michael B Davis
3 thoughts on “From Michael B Davis”
It isn’t me Hank.
I have owned a photo titled Royal Palms signed by Michael B. Davis, III (I think) of a magnificent sunset with palms in the foreground. I’ve had it for many years! Is this your work? It would make sense given this photo gallery! Best, Hank
Michael you wrote Clouds Play, They travel where their heart desires, Valley and mountains windy spires, High above oceans, the sun plays a part, Shadows created that randomly dart So I like the playfulness you point out. And it’s true. And maybe in tense times, like when world events seem to lay a heavy wet blanket on me, I can look up toward the playfulness and ease my soul a bit. Thank you Michael