Clouds

Turn again you host of clouds,

You portent of some future shrouds,

Or only up there cavorting,

Perhaps you bring some comforting.

No blacks; just grays, and blue and white,

You turned our day into the night,

Across the prairie, on and on,

With darkest cloak the sky you don.

As winds whip up each branch and bow,

We see bright bands within you now,

At first upon horizon seen,

The sun still shines above serene.

So blanket with your darkened kiss,

We need your restful, peaceful bliss,

Some days we simply need to rest,

And, know that we are heaven blessed.

Peter Lowell Paulson

April 16, 2012