Clouds drift by
As on parade.
Who knows where bound
Or whence they’re made.
Capricious winds
Of an unseen place,
Swirl, then leave
Without a trace.
Winds and clouds
On whimsy pass
As precious days
Ordained may last.
Unknown fates
Our lives compose,
Just fleeting moments
To strut and pose.
Only memories
Remain to hold
The legacy
To be told.
One generation,
At most two,
Remembers clouds
And winds that blew.
rlkilgore
