Cloud Magic

Creaky covered wagons

Roll westward through the skies,

Pulled by cloud-white oxen

With mischief in their eyes!

What can it be they’re planning?

I quiver with a hunch.

They’ll race across cloud prairies

And have the sun for lunch!

But lo! The wind is rising.

The oxen turn and flee,

Pursued by fleets of sailing ships

Across a sky blue sea!