The sunny cloud...A morn different the same,
Unknown stories writes the sunny cloud
Yet the same...
She finds poems, lack of all doubts...
In her sleepy wakeful bouts
Of fever -
A sunny cloudy morn as by Her delivered,
As if unread a poem comes
To her as a balm...
And she sits with her palette,
A field of corns like maize
Passing by like a Gladiator haze
Sleepy as if making a journey to days
She for her as sketches always...
And she sees
How unknown known stories
The morn scribbles upon
Turning her sure a bowl
She for her perhaps those tales written unashamed long
Predestined like alien homely songs...