PAINTED CLOUDS

                     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
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