Maybe I'll Turn Myself Into A Cloud

maybe I'll turn myself into a cloud
a cloud that never rains that cannot weep
and drift and fling my rosy shadows

on the ground through the pink skies
where the roses have their heaven
I used to think when I was six or seven

and I shall sweep above the little children now
looking up from play in their backyards
who perhaps even a little start to dream

that way
as though when trouble comes
we all may be allowed to run away,

to live in the sky.
and watch the earth
keep spinning by

spinning its sad gold
forlorn in its blues and greens
its tides of mist

and on its own
while we get off scot free
in realms of mystery.

until on silken ladders of the wind
on some kite's kinder winding it all down day
we shall descend

to happiness again.
as reigning monarchs
in a summer's shade.

mary angela douglas 28 december 2019