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THE WHITE CLOUD by Hilda Conkling










THE WHITE CLOUD

by Hilda Conkling


  There are many clouds

     But not like the one I see,

     For mine floats like a swan in featheriness

     Over the River of the Broken Pine.


     There are many clouds

     But not like the one that goes sailing

     Like a ship full of gold that shines,

     Like a ship leaning above blue water.


     There are many clouds

     But not like the one I wait for,

     For mine will have a strangeness

     Whiter than anything your eyes remember.