The Cloud

Out in the desert stood a young fragile weed,
suffocating from the searing air of despair.
She thirsts for hope, for the water of life,
and patiently awaits her redemption.

Over the sky, a cloud passes near.
nature and pride has brought him to this place.
with the leverage of life he passes along,
drifting and floating nigh.

The young weed sees this noble giant
and meekly calls out his name.
Oh cloud! you are made of what i crave,
please extend your compassion to me!

"Why should i waste my gifts upon you," said the cloud,
"As if you are worthy of my remedy?"
My fruit is for the roses, who live past the mountain
And your place is out here in the sand.

And the cloud, gently swayed by the currents of guilt,
as he crested the mountainous ledge.
With the glimpse of the roses and a weed far away,
he felt the humidity of his heartbreak.

He returns to the spot of the heat and the sand,
of abandoned prayers and broken wings,
as he outstreched his arms out and supplied his truth,
he called out to the most worthy of all.

Wake up! It's me!
I have brought your salvation and joy!
But the young weed, she could not recieve his gifts,
As she lay, wilted in the sand.