What meaning does a tender touch hold?

As soft and as innocent as a cloud,

Whisking along the evening sky,

Hurrying along to no destination

Only moving

Ever so slightly

Creating an unnoticeable friction

Between its own shades of white

To the other’s shades of blue,

And yet we can not associate one

Without its beloved other,

When the yellow sun shines so bright,

That the clouds have run away,

Our confused eyes rush around to find

Just a splotch or hint of white

To put our minds at ease,

And on those days, when the clouds have

Become angry at the sun,

Our eyes search for

The blue patches of sky

Poking out ever so slightly from within

The depths of the furious clouds,

To what honor do we hold the pleasure?

Of it’s harshness

And it’s peculiar design?

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