I look up to the clouds,
The suns embers begin to die.
I see their gentle, wispy grey.
Soft swirls of silver sing in the sky.
I look up high above,
And think about what they said.
About the lost souls,
The dwelling of the dead.
I look up to the skies,
So calm and gentle and serene.
In the grey hides great colour,
Vibrant blues and plush greens.
But then I must look down,
And pull my head from the night.
I look at the world around me -
No shimmering silvers or white.
I have a final glance,
And see that simple cloud,
In a world of flourished brightness..
A wispy grey stands proud.
