Clouds

                                  Clouds

  Clouds are the strangest things
  They float across the sky,
  Do you know how they got that way?
  Well, neither do I.

  They make the weirdest shapes
  As they float to and fro,
  How they hang there
  I will never really know.

  They're fluffy like marshmellows
  All billowy and white,
  Some are dark and ominous
  On a stormy night.

  They serve whatever purpose
  They were meant to do
  And are the home
  For little angles, too.

  Every time I see one
  On a cloudy day,
  I wonder in awe
  As it floats away.