Look ,junior, look at the sky,
Look at those old men fly,
Like the birds,that sit on trees,
Like the dangerous honey bees;
One after another, another and another,
Like a brother and a brother,
Some young and some old,
Some frightened,some mousy,some like the lion,OLD AND BOLD,
Some lovely as silver,some as gold;
Don’t bother me Mom,
Don’t bother me to the hilt,
I shall say it once,clear and loud,
Don’t you know that’s called a Cloud.
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