Poem: A Slow but Inevitable Arrival

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Storm rolls in
the sun fights to
break through the clouds
Will it, won't it?
Slowly but surely
the grey blots out the sky.

Wind stirs the flowers
softly at first but the stems bend
and shiver even more
Will it, won't it?
Like a careful hand 
it just moves with the breeze.

Thunder speaks softly
almost like a caressing rumble
hesitant to shout
Will it, won't it?
It raises its voice
to announce the rattle of rain.


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