Why do you sit there, Mister Cloud?
And perch up in the sky, so proud?
You ripple and billow across the willows,
Drape right across the lake,
Fly across the Atlantic ocean,
Never seem to cease your motion.
And, Mister Cloud, do you ever rest?
Or are you in perpetual jest?
Catching people unawares,
Then, scarper like a cheeky hare.
But we all know when you're away,
You'll be back another day
(Especially in Swansea)