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Rain Storm

A lightning bolt shoots from the cloud,
Illuminated bright.
A small stream flows along the road,
Running from left to right.
There is no sound of chirping birds,
Just the pitter patter of rain,
Pouring down upon the plants—
The water they hope to gain.
Off in the distance the sun should be setting.
Oh, Light, please shine on through!
To give a glint of hope to us
That the storm shall pass on too.
And as I gaze upon the scene
With a mood so blank yet dour,
I do so wonder if April’s showers
ALWAYS bring May’s flowers.





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