Cottonwood Democracy

Where classic clouds grow on bits of dust and gather rather high above,
The secret cloud grows on the cottonwood tree.
Quite a democratic cloud,
Unlike its lofty family.
The end of May sees the white cotton wisps descend to waiting lips.
Clouds can be distant seen by most,
A privileged sight by flight for some.
The cottonwood clouds are free to touch, smell, taste, see, and listen to.
No access wristband needed there.
Simon would approve.

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