A cloudy imagination

Written by: Albert Ahearn

The lingering cumulus clouds imperceptibly changed their shapes while I sat below discerning these metamorphosed spectacles. My imagination went wild as they drifted across the sky. It seemingly was like my mind was orchestrating their transmuting. I glanced at one that took the shape of the poet Walt Whitman’s head; another like Sylvia Plath; and yet another looked like Poe. I glanced back at the Whitman cloud but it changed into Erato. I took my pad from my pocket and began to write this poem.