With my arms reaching up over head,
I can feel the clouds sleeping in their bed.
I can smell their sweet breath so fresh aloft,
Up through the effervescent air so soft.
 
I can see winding meadows below so clear
From my lofted chair with heaven so near.
I can see the trees as if they’re my children,
And the dark forests as if they’re my friend.
 
I can see rising rivers as if they’re a brook,
A behemoth as a sheep with a timid look,
A hurricane as a sea of slow revolving pearls,
Or a tornado whittled down to a gentle whirl.
 
Mother Nature is amidst
The taming of the tempest,
From where I can see
From my seat in the sky.

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