Clouds often have interesting shapes. Despite the arguments of science, I reckon there are a fixed number of them, which just keep going round and round the world.
When I was a lad, I glanced up at the sky
Just as a castle-shaped cloud drifted by.
Would it ever come back? I hoped it would try;
But it hasn’t done yet, and I’m wondering why. . .
I learned that a cloud is a transient thing.
When the atmosphere’s right, its conditions will wring
From the air any water it cannot contain:
Each cloud is unique, and will not come again.
But now that I’m older, I look at the sky
And I want to believe that those clouds do not die.
That castle-shaped cloud will appear, drifting by;
But it hasn’t done yet, and I’m wondering why. . .