Bonnie Manion Poem March of the Clouds

Across a blue ocean
Of summery air,
I saw a flotilla
Of clouds pass by here.
Or was it a herd
At a gallop through sky,
Oblivious to the dreamer
On a fantasy-ride?

I counted the forms;
They kept coming on.
I named all the shapes,
But they changed and swarmed.
I reached for one billow;
My timing was wrong.

They don’t see the birds
Who play hide-and-seek.
They don’t see the ponds
Which mirror their speed.
They don’t see that aphids
Migrate in their keep.
They don’t see jet planes
Which pierce them, don’t bleed.

I lay back, dream on
As the clouds march along.
I can’t stop them, and
They won’t sing my song.
They’re in such a hurry
They keep moving along.

first published in Flyway

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