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May 2020
While the sun was idle
It rested beneath the inky cumulus
As thunder clad the still morn
A tiny ant with a bread crumb load
Perhaps on its way home
Stopped for a rest on the tip
Of my marmalade coated toast
Then off he went
As wind tousled leaves made a clapping sound
As if, the long wait is over
I held up my coffee
And breathed in,

I smelled rain.
One of the Tortured Poets
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One of the Tortured Poets  26
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