The Monsoon

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Streamers of rain
Fingers of chilled water
The clouds lower themselves
They carry cold air
Traces of winter left behind
Pellets of ice mix in
The wind drags calender back
Flowers bud waiting for the Sun.
The season of change hasn’t yet.
It’s lack of determination appalling.
I sit unknowing of which God’s to curse.
I let nature run its course.
It’s sloppy track shows a way
But a fear more hills await.
The sun filled fields are distant still.

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