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O’ little cloud who would be big,
…A thunderhead now forming,
You work so hard at growing up,
…You are already storming.
But here, at first, the only one
…‘Gainst whom your winds are raging
Is just yourself, as if you are
…A war of two minds waging.
One says to grow – the time is ripe
…The moist air to you gather.
The other says, “Let’s slow it down.
…To have some fun I’d rather.”
And so you have a ragged head
…With tendrils that are tearing
By your own winds so that you have
…A look both wild and daring.
You’ll build and tear and when you’re through
…With your two minds discussing,
Then you’ll be grown; your wind will blow
…On our heads, our hair mussing.
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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.
The Bard on the Hill 