Sweet Clouds.

A million clouds soaring over head, 
The destination is known to us. 
They replicate over water sources,
 And paint the emerald mountains. 
Somewhere few thirsty trees call, 
They fly and fly in search of them. 
They hear the cry and need for water, 
Stop all of a sudden and look around, 
From there moaning voice arise. 
They squeeze them hard and shower,
The first pure drops of water called Rain. 
The roots swell in joy and twigs glow green! 
Clouds don’t simple move around they are always.
 Looking for voices around the earth.