She makes her home in the fluffiest cloud,
A cloud so white and soft, the best,
Against the deepest, bluest sky, so proud,
The cloud cuckoo sits in her nest.
A nest spun from the finest white,
Silver never drifting into grey,
Glowing in the depths of night
And billowing brightly into day.
You may just hear the cloud cuckoo,
Her song as soft as a summer breeze,
She is calling, calling, just for you,
For you are the one she would want to please.
But if you are asked, you have never heard
The cloud cuckoo deep in her cloud.
She’s a shy and most mysterious bird,
So please – don’t ever say her name out loud.
The wind beneath her wings are sighs
That gently ruffle her feathered freckles,
She’s your secret in the endless skies,
A speculation with many speckles.