“Wait, do not leave me!â€? cried Ben with a start.
But the old king was gone, leaving Ben no way to depart.
He must guard the clouds with his broken heart;
His tears are the rain that paints the land like art.

The birds shall flock to him as they will forever
But he will see his love no more; never.
He has tried and tried but no matter how clever
Ben is locked in his castle; an unending endeavor.

To pass the time he sculpts clouds of white
Into hearts, into faces, into thoughts that are trite;
Representative of his love and a story of his plight.
He watches Kate from the moon, hopefully each night

For escape there is one possible way
But that which I think of I fear to say.
You could climb up and take his pain still today,
Enter the clouds on the eighth dawn of May.