Shouting Clouds And A Natural Born Wonder
Whatever we call it, it is what it is.

“ The clouds are shouting “ I hear her say
As a dazzle of lightning flashes across
The horizon.
“ It’s tewibbly fwightening at this time of day.”
Her trembling voice stumbling across
The bed that she lies on.
Who am I to tell her she’s wrong with her noun
With a slap on the wrist and disapproving frown?
Who am I to chide her for her innocent ways
To call sneeze triggered mucous " Nose water sprays ? "
Who am I to tell her that a gravy stain is not
What she likes to call " Mummy's little yummy spot "
Because her mind isn't trained in educated ways ?
It matters not if it's "sprays" or if it's not
If it's a " shout " or even if it's " thunder"
In a gathering storm from far away yonder
Whatever you call it, just like her,
It's a natural born wonder.
This poem was written in an attempt to make good on a promise to myself to emulate the poem Blue Umbrellas by D.J.Enright.






