Whose clouds are these that wander here
To veil the inland morning clear,
An ocean gone adrift above
And threatening to loose its tears?

The endless traffic crowded sky
Whose cotton vessels ever nigh,
It must be for the thirsty blooms
The windswept deluge wanders by.

So let it rain, if rain it must,
And saturate my arid trust,
For not a mote of soil is dry
Beneath the falling river’s thrust.

The clouds, they wander wide and veer
To shower me protected here,
A clouded morning drawing near.
A clouded morning drawing near.

#Siene #Paris

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