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Showing posts from July 11, 2016

A Dance in the Storm

She swirls around the same old swing, Like leaves that float and fly for a new breeze, The same park where benches lay adorned, The same garden of memories, of love and lovelorn... A gentle drizzle that comes every eve, Does make her not smile nor blink. She awaits the rain like a writer embraces metaphors, A drizzle isn't for the child who dances in the storm. Of rain that washes away the petrichor it brings, A downpour of a hail of bullets, and she calls it spring.