The best skies are partly cloudy,
Or partly clear, if you prefer,
As happenstance may be rowdy
And clarity a saboteur
Where turbulence is hard to see
When pressure stokes invisible...
To then commence chaotically
Like something metabolizable,
As when the sky seems most alive;
A vibrant essence to the air
Allowing thought itself to thrive
Like pride upon a foolish dare
Which huffs and puffs before it blows...
A fresh iota from Zephyr's nose!