THE CLOUD

Here comes the messenger cloud,
the bringer of joy, speaks aloud.
Gliding atop fir and juniper,
calm and serene as nothing stir.

Passes high above the lovely peak,
with looks so dismal and bleak.
Moves on terrains high and low,
while water gurgles as it flow.

The beauty of nature; secret trade,
thus cloud with setting sun is red.
It mingles with snow, brings rain,
the innocent grass knows not when.

It creates the mighty thunder,
falls with rage down under.
It burns, it showers, it cools,
flows in rivers, fills the pools.

There goes the messenger cloud,
the envoy of peace, steady and proud.
Sailing above caverns and hills,
emptying the gorges while crevices fills.

Prasenjit©1997-2012