Weaving through the clouds up high in the sky,

Not much around us but the ground below.

Far off in the distance the clouds do cry,

Sending down flashes of bright yellow glow.

The clouds start to flee, but one lingers on.

Nearing it slowly, we enter this shroud.

Thunder booms as the cloud declares its brawn.

The lightning’s blinding, the thunder too loud.

At last, the storm weakens and the noise dies.

The rain dwindles down, revealing the sun.

We pierce through the gloom and coast to clear skies.

Finally it’s over; the storm is done.

We are a bird soaring higher, higher

Flying ‘round in our Piper Tripacer.