As a youth I would lay with my back to the ground
my face to the heavens, and my eyes to the clouds
Some are a wisp, as from an artists light brush
they seem oh so high, no human can touch
Some move so swiftly, seems somewhere to go
they rush or' the sky, they move to and fro
Some gray and so heavy, and rain they will bring
the rain clouds are needed, to nourish all things
But the ones i loved best were like cotton and free
they'd flow and they'd cluster, new shapes yet to be
There's Abraham Lincoln, there's a ship with it's sails
there's Mickey and Donald ..... a long string of pearls
They appear soft and fluffy, as a fine feather bed
if I could fly up there, to just once rest my head
Now I am grown and the clouds not so rare
I don't even notice that they are still there
So I look to the heavens, old friends hoping to see
will I remember them, will they recognize me
Old age has a bad habit,..... to lose sight of simple things
the sun on you face, the wind in you hair,.......... the joy that these all bring
Looking back to my youth, back so many days, one memory if I could buy
my back to the ground, my face to the heavens and a cloud to fill my eye.