I love to watch the clouds at eventide
parade across the skies like sailors proud.
White-capped and dressed in Blues they smartly glide
toward sun now slipping swiftly yet unbowed.

A fishing boat is anchored for the night
In harbor dark that mirrors clouds up high
and distant shore is drenched with circling light
cast from a white-bricked tower touching sky.

Oh, unlike me these clouds are free to go
wheree'er they wish--o'er mountain, vale or bay.
I'd love to join their ranks, look down below,
observe the world around us every day.

Such clouds evoke the wanderlust in me,
cause me to wonder what's my destiny.