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 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