(This one relates to Tuesday's poem. Thankfully not the situation today!)
A good storm clears the air--
The torrents wipe away the filth,
The thunder sings in the ears,
Lightening opens the eyes,
Truth is revealed and we revel.
But not all storms are good--
When the winds wrench
And the floods ruin,
We are left bereft
With more work than before.
Which storms are ours, my child?
You rail, wail, and resist,
While I fight to hold tight.
Afterward I am spent and bent
Yet your are transformed and mild.
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