Clouds
When days were young, my love and I
would search the clouds for faces.
On pillowed grass, we two would lie.
The clouds today may hold traces
of a love that was paused in time,
then vanished to unknown places.
Forgotten now, like poet's rhyme,
I search for faces in the clouds
a friend, a child--how clouds can mime!
Among the blue, are foamy crowds--
faces of those I used to know.
But that one face is not allowed.
Aimless, perhaps, but we below
see clouds forming a quaint tableau.
March 3, 2023
for "Each Passing Cloud" contest
by JCB Brul
First Place
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