White Clouds
© Gene Tagle
I live in Honesdale,Pa. Eighty-two years old. Wrote the poem probably 30 years ago. Always fascinated by white clouds moving across the sky.
High flying fleet of billowy boats,
Quietly cruising celestial seas.
Windblown wads in whimsical shapes,
Gracefully riding the heavenly breeze.
White-robed Bedouins bound to the sky,
Wandering aimlessly out of my view.
Would that my cares could be as the clouds,
Lifted, wafted, lost in the blue.
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