PAINTED CLOUDS

       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, shaped from heaven above.

                 Pastel colors appeared In my sight,

          Rays of light from the sun trying to peak 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

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