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CLOUDS    -   THE STORY CONTINUES


Where do people go as they pass by?
For that matter, where do clouds go as they pass by,  
Unstoppable and often in a great hurry ?
Are they headed for some cloud-convention  
With cheering straw-hatted cloud-candidates
And girl-clouds jumping out of cloud-cakes?
Maybe they are in full-flight towards some 
Important cloud-business meeting,
Some taking the cheap red-eye flights at low altitude,
Bumpy, noisy, slow, we ‘ve all been there,
Others, the high-flying cirrus, gliding smoothly
In fast, first-class, stratospheric comfort
Like rappers headed for an emergency gig.
Oh yes, we all know the angry ones full of spit and vinegar
With their black looks and their wetblanket approach to all fun,
Big self-important ones that blot out the sun for a while  - 
The hot-day cumulus all vying to be the tallest and whitest  -
Little timorous ones, halting and uncertain like shy children
Who just dry up on a hot day  
When you ask them if they have anything to say.

I dunno, seems they go fast or sail slowly by  -  
But where does their trip end ?
And why do they never stop to chat?
Do they have any real existence at all?
Can they answer me that? 
And can the clouds answer too?

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