So long ago, as a child
I often had this question in mind

I would sneak up behind my mother
And with that voice no one could smother
Ask over and over again
Whilst knowing it was not in her ken
Where do the clouds go

They could not try to escape a foe
Who would desire to harm a scud
Or cover it in dirt and mud
There was no reason for them to flee
And hide away so we could not see
Their pretty forms in the sky

Was it the fault of those birds that through them would fly
Or were they so ashamed of concealing the sun
That away they went in a run

My mother would chuckle and respond
That they were like my fish in the pond
They had to swim from here to there
And exhibit their shapes so fair

Yet with that answer I was not at ease
And kept looking for a response to appease
That boiling curiosity of mine

Later on, years after, I found one that seemed fine
Those clouds still have to find
A land that will be kind

Where do the clouds go
That, I do not know
Because I yet have to hear
Of a country that is so clear
That it would make them stop their travel

However, there is no land I know that could accomplish such a marvel