Clouds Up High
With my old rod I am fishing, sitting waiting wishing;
That those watery folk below, were not my rig a’missing.
Throw out the line once more, this time I feel sure;
That I will meet success, ‘fore close the heavenly doors.
As I wait I gaze up high, to clouds floating in the sky;
Little drops of water tinier than you or I.
Seeing swirls like on a marble, beauty which has me marvel;
Next to nature’s artwork, s’clear words are merely garbles!
Wonders at these colours, does this solo fella;
Here ending with this question: will you listen to this caller?
Spiggsy © June 2013