Growing Storm

Awe-inspired, with a huge smile,
that boy feebly holds his hand,
clinging intimately to his legs,
not afraid, but confident,
in the storm.

Haughty, ego-ratic, puffed up,
that kid boastfully walks behind him,
held high held, ever so closed ears,
not heeding the intense warning
of the storm.

Matured, experienced, withering,
that man remembers him,
silently professing his heartfelt thanks,
moving on to the beautiful morning
after the storm.





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