The Crying Clouds


The world sleeps beneath the crying clouds
while the morning on timid steps
reclaim the horizons, to darkness lost
when the sun went down and the night began.

Across the town the sound of life
in whisper starts then slowly rise
both in pitch and volume until they drown
every other audible things around.

By then the lights should have become
bright enough to wipe out the rain,
those teardrops of the clouds, cried through the night
shall return to the heaven they belong.

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