The cloud speaks to the rain
In curiosity
Of tidings nearer earth
And what may lie below
And so
Hand in hand
Together they descend
From the province of the sky
To gather in the trees
While mingling with the leaves
Amidst both branch and trunk
Much chattering ensues
And word of secret things
There are rumors of strange “ground”
Of thicket and of field
Of root and rock and stream
And aspects yet unknown
The owl hears their words
And boldly speaks his piece:
“My wandering wings have soared
In the firmament above
And my curious eyes have gazed upon
The continents below
And nothing have I seen
In each exceptional domain
To surrender this high perch
For a seat of dust and stone”
Their fascination proves too strong
Leaf and rain and cloud unite
And sail the final length
To view the land beyond the verge
But visions grand are quickly dashed
As dreams dissolve in moss and mud
The raindrops pool into a mire
The leaves amass into a heap
The cloud, his misty borders swirl
Into a foggy tangle deep
Though leaf and drop protest aloud
Only cloud may find reprieve
And, lesson learned, ascends anew
Trailing streamers damp with dew
To mount again the lofty heights
Of wild blue home
And should the invitation rise
To join rain’s inquiring descent
The cloud will pause
Defer
Decline
And where he is, abide
