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About This Poem
Stormy Whether
Only the unfinished moon pierced the gray haze,
not a star shown in the mist muffled sky above.
The ashen air was thick with the portents, dismayed...
death blanketed firmament, the diadem above.
From the south the fierce winds came, their might at bay,
from the north the cold winds came, snow fell above,
and only the unfinished moon spoke of doom,
as the mother of all storms arose and bloomed.
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