I walk the morning, the air has a chill and a breeze,

Out in the distance above the hills they float like balloons.

Shapes or sizes and colors of difference,

Splashed across the sky are painted clouds.

Vanish, they go away for a moment in time,

Reinvented, shapes from heaven above.

Pastel colors appeared in my sight,

Rays of light from the sun trying to peek through.

An invisible smile, a memory of a face sketched,

Forever in my mind eyes of beauty, a voice that echoes,

Through the clouds.

Keith Garrett