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Poetry

Dark Clouds

It is morning but it is still dark

Well, the clouds may have gone for a procession,

A procession hidden behind the heavenly firmaments

Strangely it may never storm

But the town can feel the damp

Soft airs play with the trees leaves

Flying them like kites up above the sky

Dark clouds hide the sun

Waiting for her ransome

The morning shy

Enjoy the warmth of mixed cold and hot air

So tbe airs, dark clouds and the morning

May have gone to sleep; a sleepy procession