Committed writers dedicated to working together to produce excellent poems, short stories, drama, life writing, and creative non-fiction

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Sheila 01823 67 28 46

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Tuesday 27 May 2014


Once, long ago and far away, eight clouds were drifting along high up in the sky.

The first cloud, which was brand new, was as white and soft as marshmallow, and right in its middle sat a little lost soul. He stood up with a wobble, rubbed his eyes and looked all around. In front of him, stretching away into the blue like an unravelled feather bed, he could see other clouds bustling across the sky as if they knew exactly where they were going. But the little lost soul had no idea where that might be.

© Sheila Rogers
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