Clouds
Clouds are pilgrims ever travelling
Round the winding world unravelling
Tying up and letting go
As the spool while the seamstresses sew
And their thread
Is the winding wind
Which blows this way
Then back again
And the clouds are like carrier freight
With their cargo of water
They cannot be late
‘Always hurrying to the next mountain
Like ghosts who cannot rest
Who must keep going as if un-blest
And yet some holy pilgrimage
Keeps them travelling on
As if they knew that somehow
Their time shall not be long
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