They fly within the very enveloped clouds
Playing with sundry vapor of throe
How fine it's beauty we relish to watch
A veneer we always fail to cognizance
In hymn with the wind we did not heed
As horizon plays circus of perfect scene
Sometimes playing nimbus to dupe more
Yet with tote of unbearable agony and travail
When evening calls they breath
Thanking stars for averting eyes that might see
Like them who too, stays even daytime
Still wander through the dark though weary
And if they turned unto ashen cotton
Grand shower of fragile voice they just are
Of previous memories and silent whispers
Refilling still no matter how hard the rain is
