🌜Moon Child🌛

White clouds in heavenly splendour glide softly in the sky,
They form, they change, they journey like soap suds flowing by.
They skip like little children, they float on silent wings,
They join their hands in tribute, such lovely, fluffy things.

No choreographic wonder could human hands obtain;
To equal this performance must be by heavenly reign.
Their ultra white appearance, like freshly fallen snow,
Glides slowly o’er the heavens, they venture to and fro.

There’s no baton to guide them yet movement comes with ease,
Like joyful, happy children they glide where’er they please.
Who tells them how to function? Who guides the path they take?
Who keeps them from destruction? Why don’t they crash and break?

There has to be an order that we don’t understand,
A universal programme within the Master’s hand.
The things we rarely notice; the things we fail to see,
Are part of God’s creation; a holy mystery.

How do clouds stay above us? Why don’t they fall to earth?
What makes them move so gently? Does movement cause them mirth?
They dance as if they’re joyful; they roam the sky at will;
But me? I stand in wonder: how can they be so still?

I ponder o’er their beauty, I marvel at their grace,
And realize God’s purpose – He put the clouds in place.
Just like in all creation we see His perfect plan,
We’re privileged to enjoy them, a gift from God to man.