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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1312607
This is one of my favourites. I won't get into the metaphore but I am proud none the less.
Wee children lying flat, and staring at the sky.
Wondering in their little heads, just why the clouds roll by.

Cloud watching, cloud watching and all the kids will play.
But who will watch the little ones when the clouds have gone away.

I'm laying flat and staring at, the now clear skies, they're blue.
The clouds are gone and the sun is out, so I guess I will tell you.

On sunny days when all is seen, and things become more clear.
The child of my heart dances, and with the clouds, will disapear.

And as I reach to stop it all, from slipping through my hands.
The rain will fall then the sun will push, these clouds to other lands.

So blessed is the child, who plays under the sun.
He reaches up to touch the clouds and everything's undone.

And blessed is the child who holds onto love so tight.
But clouds or not, and sun or not, it matters not, at night.
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