At home the clouds have no
bottoms cut off by magic knife,
they are soft, fluffy, white and
like me have shades of grey.
Happy clouds, quiet clouds,
relaxed, not moving clouds.
Bathed in sunshine, they are
clouds I want to see.
Glad to be here clouds.
Altogether nice clouds
No place like home clouds.
Clouds I want to stay.
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Comments about this poem (Clouds by Bob Blackwell )
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