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Oct 2015
Falling Down, pooling up,
Out of the sky, into my cup.
What is this wet that comes above,
That some call disaster, and others find love.
The harder it falls, the less it is nice,
The colder it falls the harder the ice.
The rain has an art that I may not get,
So I stand still here and get soaking wet.

Mitchell D. Wilson.
This poem is perfect!
Trevon Haywood
Written by
Trevon Haywood  Springfield, MA
(Springfield, MA)   
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