Up, up above
Where little birds fly,
Grey mother clouds are passing by.
They look down below,
Weary and drawn,
Remembering fondly the times forgone.
Unbroken snow in quiet mirth lies,
Dripped like cold tears from heaven’s eyes.
Premature birth on autumn’s night
Captures in the air a mystic delight.
The earth doth sleep in unknowing dark,
Awaiting the cry of the sunrise lark.
But silence is joy on stilly morn,
When pregnant clouds the ground adorn.
Life is dear and merry yet.
If only for a moment,
They can forget.
The clouds have seen;
The clouds do know
The changing earth down below.
And now for a time,
A short, short while,
The sky can hold a smile.
For the sun hath yet to rise,
And the stillness is pure,
But, alas, a transient cure.
For the clouds shall fade,
And the early-born snow,
Far, far down below,
Shall be no more.