The clouds go galloping off
like Clydesdale plow horses,
powerful, majestic, thunderous.
They leave cleansing, cooling rains
that wash clean the dimly painted sky.
A million shimmering stars
wink against the pristine night,
glisten, gleam, and glow,
calling to the One they know,
telling of His glorious greatness.
In wordless, breathless praise
announce the dawning of the day
when the light comes crashing in.
Then clouds can be no more
and all is made to sparkle.