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May 2018
Before a summer rain,
there is no black,
no clouds seized with pain.
There is only a gentle rolling,
as the storm sets in.
The sky is yellow,
and the rain only
gradually
begins.

There is the pattering of rain
on leaves, thunder
rumbling its discontent
at the humid air.
And my face in the window,
with my senses
ensnared.
Written by
DM00  18/F
(18/F)   
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