A boy, I marveled at the clouds,
So strange and wondrous in the sky;
I’d spread my arms and try to fly,
Admired by the watching crowds.
I knew that I would not stay small,
One day my shoes would scuff their fluff —
But now that I am large enough,
I rarely look at them at all.
So many times, before we die,
We’ve died to all we ever dream:
And clouds become just so much steam,
And boys who dreamed become