Beneath the sky’s vast, azure dome,
Clouds drift like whispers, soft and free.
They weave a tale of endless roam,
A dance of beauty, wild yet serene.
Morning’s light, a golden hue,
Paints the clouds with gentle grace.
Each one a canvas, born anew,
A fleeting art in nature’s embrace.
By noon, they gather, thick and proud,
Shadows cast upon the land.
A symphony, both soft and loud,
Played by the skyâs celestial band.
As dusk descends, they fade away,
Leaving hues of pink and gold.
Night’s curtain falls, ending the day,
A story in the sky retold.