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The Storm

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The rain pours down onto the empty fields.
The clouds cry and scream,
Throwing somewhat of a temper tantrum.

Flowers whip around, tearing up leaves and soil.
The trees shed branches and twigs,
And shrapnel smacks against the side of a house.

It rains and rains and rains,
And finally the dark mass of clouds in the sky crack open,
And move on to raid another peaceful haven.

Time passes and passes and passes,
And the soil returns and the trees sprout again.
A gentle spray of love falls from the clouds one sweet afternoon.

The dirt splits open like a dimple on a smiling child.
A green sprout shoots up and grows until leaves fold out.
A small red bud peeks out from the lime folds.

The petals spread apart like a Japanese fan,
It soaks up the rays of the smiling sun
And dazes in the afternoon heat.



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