Angel Wing Compost Pile


I should love to feel a cloud,

It’s wispy strands

Coiling around my hands

And swirling into my frozen words

It would be nice to hear a cloud,

For they whisper silence into the atmosphere

And bond together when it’s gray

To share whispered secrets of blue days

They are of the ocean and the air

To block the scorching sun,

Whose rays pierce the fluff

To taste a cloud would be a joy

Of sugar-filled wonders

And cold, refreshing stuff

The sky is water’s heaven,

and in-between elements

But these clouds prefer to think of themselves

As an angel wing compost pile

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