Clouds
Silver'd wisps, diaphanous, floating 'neath the ether,
flying high like prophesies from God.
Black forbidding masses rumble out their warning,
jagged bolts of lightning rend the air.
Innocuous or deadly, oft they're in disguise,
it would behoove us all to heed the skies.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2015
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