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I look up,
Staring towards the heavens,
I see enormous puffs,
Of snow-white clouds,
Infusing with light blue sky,
Whose appeal is that of untouched water.
I see the tops of tallest trees,
Swaying slightly in the breeze,
Some still convey traces of green,
But most have lost their green to whispering, winter, winds,
And now bear thin gray branches,
Like fingers reaching towards a dream.
Oh how I wish,
To touch the sky,
To dance among the clouds,
And to tickle all the tree tops.
But when the wind picks up again,
Ever colder than days before,
I’ll be off,
Only to return when clouds are plump,
And trees are in full bloom.
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