Saturday, September 13, 2003

The sky is bleak,
The day half gone,
A sense of pending anguish
Carried on the whirling winds.
An unknown menace haunts the land;
All but fear is hidden—
Is there hope in desolation?
Could there be a shelter?
Is there not a hiding place?
Perhaps the rain still driving down
Heals a thirsty world…
Or perhaps it is destruction.
When it is over, will I be swept away?


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