That white thing
oozing from the trees…
Is it water, is it air, is it cloud,
is it ghost; is it warm, is it cold?

That white thing
looming like wild bees…
I can’t reach, I can’t touch, I can’t feel,
but I do see; it is blue and white gold.

That white thing
hanging in the sky…
It is vapor, condensed rain,
it is soothing to behold.

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