Nature's clay

I gaze up at the sky and see

imaginary menageries;

across the blue, they slowly traipse,

beasts of all sorts, sizes and shapes

and birds and castles, even people

that drift like dreams over church steeples.

“Why is it so?”, I hear you say.

It’s ‘cause the clouds are Nature’s clay;

the plasticine of soft white fluff

from which she moulds all kinds of stuff

because, when Nature’s work is done,

she too just likes a little fun.