POEM: The Moveable Feast

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Have you stopped to lookup

At those ever forming and deforming clouds?

Are you not awe-struck by millions

Of those puffy white cotton bundles in the Cumulus,

Basking in their brilliant whiteness and journeying

As if on an unknown exodus to the yonder with heavenly zeal?

Have you not gaped

At the silvery white plumes in the Cirrus,

Those curly wisps of ice crystals

That float and waft lightly in the high skies?

Have you not wondered at those grand bubbly

White bellowing beauties of the Cumulonimbus,

Those that seem to froth in the celestial bathtub

Where the nymphs bathe In their nebulous orgies?

Have you not stopped in your tracks

To look at the spectacle in the Stratocumulus,

Of the racecourse of galloping gray horses

Carrying their precious precipitations?

Have you not feared the ominous

Murky masses that brood in the Nimbostratus,

With their great pregnant heaviness

That portend the delivery of downpours and thunderous typhoons?

Strive we shall to climb the Everest of life,

But shall we for a while pause to partake the moveable feast that is all around us?

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