A Passing Cloud

There’s a world, in cyan mirth,

Where doves coo, and skylarks soar;

Up, inside the elated vault,

Where angels sing melodies galore.

A stray cloud from the festivities’ throne,

Passes by the terraqueous earth;

It sits atop the mountaintop,

Bleached of its grey glorying adorn,

Crying its pristine berries, all but alone.

As the sun kisses the tender drops, its own;

Shimmering gold on silver:

Effulgence shielded by coats of green;

A honeysuckle smiles coyly from in between.

The cloud beholds: a twilight fantasy;

It sends rippling fragments of luminescent wishes,

Into the fragile vessel of the oceanic dreams;

As it sighs caressing its weighing heart,

The wind carries its smarting whispers to my lips.