Poem By Ernestine Northover
Clouds all tumbling steadily along, way up above my head,
Looking, Oh, so cosy, like an exquisite featherbed.
I could just relax there, within those many rolling hills,
And sleep, and dream away my cares, my sorrows and my ills.
Floating across the blue expanse of sky and space anew,
I 'd thus become as light as air, and could bid the world adieu.
© Ernestine Northover