Thunderclouds
Impassioned foreboders
Each of which projects
A fearsome sky
Of trees' whistly lead-ball rained
Scourging effects.
Cruel, torturous. And yet
Fine with it, I.
Impatient erasers
As streets flash pale in
Quick banishment
Of what there neath, lazy, lawned
Lie picnicking.
Again accepting. Unless
As one, glass-bent!
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