The sky grows black and ominous,
The bald trees bend with strain.
Rain, like bullets, scatter the dust,
While dried leaves obey the wind,
And romp like playful chipmunks.
A momentary calm passes by.
Trees snap back to attention,
While the dust settles and,
The leaves become less flighty,
But the sky grows blacker yet.
The winds flex their muscles.
All is chaos now.
The leaves are airborne, the dust swirls upward,
And now the trees must bow
As the rain-like bullets riddle the ground.
Raindrops splash upon the grass,
And soon miniature streams appear.
The trees and dust and leaves
Change from turmoil to ease,
And sunshine mirrors off the streams.
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