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Clouds
A puffy dragon drifts across an azure sky
Like some soft, cotton-batten kite,
Changing shape with each artistic breeze
That carelessly sculpts each new cloud creation,
And I am there, beneath a tree, lying upon a
Grassy bed, with arms, pillow-like,
Beneath my head, in peaceful repose,
While my imagination pictures each
New, floating, wispy sculpture as it appears within
The azure dome above that is the summer sky.
