The Clouds Poem by Colin Coplin

Here come the clouds, floating slowly by
People draw images, or at least they try
Over the horizon, who knows, those may clouds die?

Can you see, the shapes they form
imagination on fire, crowning the dawn
Silver mirrors, painting my /a pathway home

Can you see the big bear
And the old shoe
The rainbow bridge
Old Man River flow...

Then there's an old man around his neck an albatross
Two Templar Knights, riding the same horse
The Widow's Son, a skeleton remorsed
The Mongol hoard unheard

Here comes some eastern ones, some old ancient mystic ones
There go the Westerlies, crowning a sound
There are simplistic ones, highly evolved futuristic ones
I found hope in some religious ones, on my way home

Here come the Peace ships of 1917
The watchman of heaven, playing at being man
The eighth day of creation, they left buried in the sand
Oh! again that unseen hand

Here come the clouds, floating slowly by
People draw images, or at least they try
Over the horizon, who knows, those clouds may die?

Here comes the sun, shinning through
The light clouds and the dark clouds and the high ones and the low ones
Today.

Copyright Colin Coplin 1977 (updated 2023)