I love to see the Cumulus clouds
Most alone; some gathered in crowds
All fluffy soft, and silently round
Floating on high in deathly a sound.
Some threaten rain; good for the flowers
Others just grey, bring trickling showers
Many are white, gleaming with sunshine
Drying the washing out on the line.
Fantastic shapes, like big soft mountains
Yet other depict, Roman fountains
With towering peaks and great sharp crags
High and proud, whilst another one sags.
Oh what a sight! A joy to behold!
Floating on high in withering cold
And when it rains, they say that clouds cry
I shall always love, these clouds on high.
