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Clouds

Laying in the emerald grass,
The soft strands slip through your fingers
Watching the airplanes fly by
And holding your hand

Dreaming about what’s out there,
And imagining heaven’s blue
While looking into the clouds
And holding your hand, too

Puffy, white, cotton balls,
Dream to jump off to another,
I fly by with my soft wings
And holding your hand, too

While I say goodbye,
I also promise you,
That maybe come tomorrow,
We both can watch the clouds, too.



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