Beneath the sky, the clouds do form,
Silent whispers, a gentle storm.
They dance and drift, in hues so grand,
A painter’s brush across the land.

They gather thoughts from distant seas,
And carry dreams upon the breeze.
With every shift, they tell a tale,
Of mysteries in the twilight’s pale.

Soft and tender, they cloak the sun,
As day and night become as one.
In their embrace, the world finds peace,
A fleeting moment, time’s release.

When shadows fall, the clouds remain,
A silent witness to joy and pain.
They hold the sky, a boundless shroud,
The endless dance of every cloud.