The Little White Cloud

Tired of wandering
on whims of the wind
the little white cloud
stopped in the blue sky

For many days
it had swirled and tumbled
in the vast skies,
and had grown weary
like a lone traveler
the last few turns
it cannot remember

It hung in the sky
motionless
with all its resilience

It wanted to be free
from the fetish of the wind
left alone in the vast expanse
with a compass of its own

It wanted to soak the seas
smell the mountains
and perhaps
inspire a poet
on its way.