King of the Clouds

Lifted upon a gentle cradle unseen
With surveying piercing sight
On updrafts warm and north winds keen
Within the skill of flight

Monarch of a kingdom proud and bold
A realm not formed of stone
Yet white towers tall, rimmed with gold
He glides through all alone

In early morn upon a spiralling high
He cries out fierce and stark
For the west a marbled blood red sky
And east an all-consuming dark

Great shadow now threats to overwhelm
And fate brings him to choose
Though care he little of the flightless realm
He senses much to lose

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