A conveyor belt of clouds passed overhead,
One thought he recognized the scene below,
'It's possible we're lost, ' he softly said
'We floated by this place some time ago.'
'I feel this sudden urge to spill some rain,
But can't be sure this is the spot we'd planned, '
His fellow clouds did not a drop retain,
'Of course' he mouthed, 'it's clearly Ireland.'
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Comments about this poem (Cloudy Judgement by Greg Costello )
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