you gave rest and recompense
against the wayward wind,
and whistled through the dripping rain
a call to arms of friends
who came
who came
who called back through
the other side of the storm,
not I, not I,
they yelled back to
the thunderclapping form
from here the clouds that hover nigh,
you thought the sun had drowned
or thought the world beyond your clouds
was sunny, bright, and round –
“Right here, right here,
the only spot
it ever rains so hard,”
while those below the suns bright rays
were drifting stranded, charred.


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