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There is wild weather coming
I can feel its heft
In the weight of the cloud
A tempestuous sky
Beethoven's frown
A furrowed brow
To the storm-lit hill
Pouring down from
A pale green sky
The hue of a seasick sailor.
Gulls are high
Wheeling, screaming their joy
In the heaving wind
and the blinding rain
The gale slows my flow
Down the pebble-dashed
Puddle-splashed
River-road home

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