Ten thousand tine storms pass by
Each one carries it's own pain.
Slowly, steadily, thrundering down
Covering all in sight with rain.
A million drops fall to the ground,
Each is a tear with no name
Soaking in so deep, so far
Everything's wet with shame.
How long will this system last
A day, a week, a year?
With every waking moment
The clouds are to be feared.
And even when the sun does shine
And from the storm, springs new life
Always and forever
Remembered is the strife.
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