Clouded

 Every night, I bring myself 

To stare up at the sky - 

But turn back home, with a frown on my face,

Clouds blocking stars, showing wry. 

Every morning, I peek out the window 

To marvel at the sea above -

But turn away, losing hope, 

Cotton figures, masking what I love. 

Every time I see the clouds, 

I curse them, with all might, 

They don't deserve to be up there, 

Ruining the bright days and starry nights. 

And one day, the clouds finally went away, 

And I stargazed in much peace. 

But suddenly, the sky felt a bit empty - 

Although dotted by the stars, without fake fleece.

In the mornings, the sun burnt the pavements - 

And something inside me missed watching 

The white shapes that merrily float past - 

I didn't realise they had much meaning. 

Though much couldn't be seen, they brought

A wholesome feeling - that you probably can't see - 

You only can, when one day, 

The clouds decide to flee. 

There's beauty in everything, and without each - 

That you see, everyday, it seems unsettling - 

So take a moment to understand, 

What your clumps of flying fleece really mean to say.