And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.
Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
THE CLOUD
Robert Reineck
One hot summer morning a little cloud rose out of the sea, and floated playfully across the blue sky. The dreary brown earth, parched with a long drouth, lay far below. The little cloud looked down and saw the poor people toiling away with heavy hearts, while she, carefree and happy, floated along on the fresh morning breeze.
She said to herself, "Oh, how much I wish I could help the poor people down there. If I could but lighten their work, or refresh them with food and drink!"