The sunny cloud...A morn different the same,

Unknown stories writes the sunny cloud
This morn
So different
Yet the same...
And
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
her soul
Turning her sure a bowl
Of glass-
She for her perhaps those tales written unashamed long
Predestined like  alien homely songs...