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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