When I tilt my head,
And feel the rush,
Brush across my face,
With white so flush.

I listen to the birds singing,
And the crickets chirp,
And frogs croak,
And the flapping of an eagle’s wings

The immense cotton fluffs floating
With a tint of cobalt blue
They crawl along so softly
Along the ceiling’s floor

A sudden roar approaches
As loud as a wave crashing,
Like a lion roars to defend his cub,
Speeding like its thrashing

What appears so seemingly calm
And so gentle like a newborn’s tips,
As soft as Madison’s feather quill
Like the power within your lips