The rains seem angry.
As whip furied as the winds.
Tea. Warm palm. Solace.
Holidays shape the overspilling
bounds of aromas. Hidden possessions
dismissed away, packed in a wardrobe
banished to an unforgiven loneliness.
A protested chaos snapped
unpleasant whispering,
interruptimg nature's
beauty, hope, and
sweetness of a special
occasion. Alongside belonged
twisting frustration furied by the
enormous danger hesitant to a wave
and smile of polite luxury.
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