I wandered lonely as a cloud

“Oi” said the cloud with abrupt distain

“I don’t wander mate

But do occasionally rain”

The poet taken a back

A talking cloud

Was it in his head?

Or said out loud?

“Oi I spoke to you

Poet chap,

I had to correct your

Erroneous crap”

“we’re shoved around

Like sardines tinned,

Jostled, bunched

By natures wind”

“Pardon” speaketh

The poet perplexed

For that’s how its written

In E Olde texts.

“You heard” said

The not so wondering cloud

“It’s the wind

That determines where we’re found.

Not a choice

that’s mine to make

But predetermined

Where the wind does take!”

“HARDLY A wandering

More a shove

In the atmosphere

Way above.”

“we’re not lonely either!”

The clouds lament

“We’re often together

Where we are sent”

And Wordsworth

Not wanting a cloud to fight

Wrote about daffodils

That came to sight.

For daffodils are less philosophical than clouds.

A much more appreciative crowd.