Rising late this morning,

I missed Clouds One and Two.

They had flown off into the distance

To be ensconced into the blue.

Clouds Three and Four were, sadly, no more.

They collapsed in the ether, as I opened the door.

The Holy Trinity of Clouds: Five, Six and Seven,

Were suddenly spirited back up to heaven.

Cloud Eight was delicate and hard to define,

So, I decided to settle on Cloud Number Nine!

 

It was plump, white, and fluffy,

Like a bean bag stuffed with cotton wool.

If you want my judgement, I’d be inclined to opine,

That the finest cloud in the country,

Is Cloud Number Nine!

 

It certainly can’t be overstated,

Every day life is overrated,

Where too much reality gets in the way,

When a grotty little bureaucrat

Will have too much to say.

The paperwork is endless, and mindless,

And I am afraid it is, probably, here to stay.

 

A fantasy world has far more charm.

I sit up here, quite safe from harm,

Away from the chatter and the sense of alarm.

I live up high, where the sun always shines.

I like to put my feet up.

On a cloud I recline.

 

When I do not live in Clover,

I live on Cloud Nine!