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The evening air is sultry, Laden with the evening rain. I sit under the pomegranate’s leafy umbrella, Listening to the rain come down. The gentle rain falls about, Hardly passing the tree’s verdant veil. I look about and watch, The rain coming down. The pine and the cypress stand, Towering above the grounds. They softly drip and weep, In the rain coming down. In the distance, thunder peals, Across the leaden sky. I leave the pomegranate’s canopy, Walking in the rain coming down.