I watch the clouds drift slowly by,
To leave behind an empty sky;
A vast canvas of boundless blue
On which I paint a scene of you.
The fiery you; the shining sun,
The glowing moon, with these you’re one,
The tender you; soft as a sigh,
With burning passion in your eye,
The smiling you, with rosy lips,
With gentle hands and fingertips,
The speaking you; all intellect;
I paint all that I recollect.
My work is good but in my view,
It can’t compare with the real you.