The clouds are ships with golden sails, Chasing the light on silver trails. The sun, a painter, fierce and bright, Dyes every wisp in pink and white.

Above the grey and hurried ground, Where clocks are loud and fears are found, There lies a world of cotton fleece, Of endless calm and tender peace.

So when the world pulls you too low, Just lift your chin and watch the show. For there, above the tallest tree, Your sky wonderland waits—still free.