That Cloud

If I remember it, it must be true
That cloud with palm trees on its shore,
A castle on its ice-cream uplands,
People crowding to its edge to wave.

Yes! It was long ago. Yes! I was three.
But threes can see things grown-ups cannot see,
Know the world has wonders, sense the magic
And the little people, shy, at vision’s fringe.

Couched in the long grass, in the insect world,
Like me they saw it. The wee folk that is.
A sudden awestruck silence then the hum
Of converse. “See it?” “Yes of course! I’ve eyes!”

And yet it didn’t make the adult papers.
Beyond the ken of those whose fey glaucoma
Stemmed from the glare of stark reality.
And years have dealt the same with me I grieve.