Beneath the vast and endless sky,
Where clouds in gentle whispers fly,
They weave a tale of dreams and sighs,
In hues of blues and softest whites.

The morning sun begins to rise,
Painting the heavens in golden light,
Clouds drift softly, pure and light,
As day unfolds before our eyes.

By noon, the sky is bright and clear,
With cotton clouds both far and near,
They play and dance, so full of cheer,
A wondrous sight that we hold dear.

As evening falls, with colors bold,
The sky turns into a canvas gold,
Clouds gather close, their stories told,
In twilight’s arms, they gently fold.