PAINTED CLOUDS

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

  Out In the distance, above the hills, they float like 

  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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