Those fat white clouds hanging o’er the hill,
A pictorial playground in the azure skies,
Home of dreams and imagination
Where riders ride on white stallions
With plumes of silken rivulets trailing
In proud submission to the sacred winds.
The warm and the cold mixing together,
A blending of tempestuous proportions,
Conjuring up the thunder and lightning,
Afore riding on the smiles of the rainbow,
Dancing the “Dance of the Zephyrs,”
Upon the returning to the calm again,
The rite of the Midsummer’s Sky.