Poetry

Sunday, 15 November 2015

Clouds

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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