Click on image to enlarge...
Clouds are White...Wikipedia
The night lay white beneath the light of black on white
where stars
Washed the swirled colors of the world to far and foreign
bars
Beneath a canopy of moonless midnight people sleep
Save for the white-faced poet with a white-spaced charge to
keep
The sound of silence slides along the fence-line, street and
lane
It runs through white-washed meadows like a silk and satin
train
It pauses where the profile of white nothingness is marred
A little light to touch with gold the white-knighted
postcard
The dusty haze and musky ways of midnight in July
Are muffled by a diamond glaze that flutters from the sky
Its rests upon the rooftop and it nestles on the sill
And pours white whispers from a flask where poet’s drink
their fill
The clouds at night are not as white as clouds of middle-day
But wise-men snore their sagely snores as well on shores of gray
Among the stars a pontoon drifts where poets sift through white
And trawl the rise and falling call of one more poem to write
© Janet Martin