Clouds

They look like flying cotton candy,

Feeling inside all dandy,

Sometimes they can look foggy,

Making everything look dark and smoggy.

Making shapes in the sky,

During the day they say bye,

Until a new day they come back,

To form into new shapes that stack.

Different colours they turn,

Pink, white, orange and auburn,

It’s a cloud,

Flying past the crowd.

They turn black and cry,

Shoot out light that can fry,

When they crowd it gets cold,

They’re dangerous so I'm told.

When the sky gets dark they go away,

As children go to sleep, there comes another day

Bees buzzing in the air,

Well now that sounds fair.