In the silent ballet of the morning sun,
Clouds drift as dreams, softly undone.
Wisps of white, a dance in the blue,
Whispering secrets, ancient and true.

They gather in clusters, guardians of peace,
Ethereal beings, offering sweet release.
Draped in twilight, they gently embrace,
The world below, with a tender grace.

As the day fades, they burn in gold,
Stories of old, silently told.
Shadows stretch, and twilight weaves,
Clouds like ghosts, the sky they leave.

Night descends, with a starry shroud,
Clouds dissolve, but their whispers are loud.
In dreams we chase, their fleeting form,
Through realms of sleep, so safe and warm.