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I sit here, alone wrapped in the echos of pouring rain This, is not that of a spring rain Bringing forth new life after a long slumber Nor, is this a summer rain Quenching the thirst of a parched soul dried by a red-hot sun Neither, is this a fall rain Washing the faces of beautifully hued leaves But, a winterís rain Cloaked in a numbness of cold Drop, by drop like the beat of a distant drum My heart joins the rhythm as your memory courses through my veins The thunder roars engulfing the room as my pulse quickens Bolts of lightening emerging around me as my eyes conform Another storm weathered as my tears pool upon the floor
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