clouds

I admire the clouds whom roam free,
They shape themselves to what they want to be,
They become a turle or an airplane,
Like ink blots 'cross the sky to detirmine
whether or not you are sane,
Though these creatures do shed tears,
It must be nice to live without worrys or fears,
They are so lucky to roam with the birds,
And so I stand by my strong words,
For it is true,
For admiring them is what I like to do.