Cushions of pearls that rest on the wind
Angry dark bunches that rain down on us
White as the snow that never will end.
They change to be
What we want to see
For some they are flowers
For others they're stems.
Through night and the day
They don't go away
On some days they're numbered
But on others, they fade.
But no matter what
They are what they are
They float in the sky
And they rest on the wind.
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