On all that it touches it leaves a glisten

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On all that it touches it leaves a glisten,
And with its arrival you will surely listen.

Its presence has been known to kill,
But its absence, too, leaves everything still.

Its wrath is so cruel it leaves plants to cry,
And beneath the sun's glitter they'll quickly die.

And in the winter it changes fate,
Hindering sorry man's slow gait.

Children in fear will always cry out,
For it suffers from anger and often will shout.

Where it travels it will have its way,
And it just may be on no particular day.





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