Old Poetry Poetry • Poets • Essays • Forums •

Clouds

Born of the waters are we,
Clean of original stain;
Fresh from the salt of the sea,
Pure from the marsh and the plain.


Borne of the Breezes above,
Whithersoever they go,
Made in a mystical love,
Mothers of Rain and of Snow.

Leave a guest comment (subject to review)

    : Comment:

    Name: (required)
    Email: (required, hidden from spam)