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Strange Weather

Strange Weather 

The camels are swimming, 
and who knew...
they knew how?
What a surprise...
to all that stood by, 
watching them cross the desert, 
like ducks on a pond. 

Careful and fearful, 
some should be, 
as the sucking sand, 
has grown hungry.
Pulling the unwary down, 
to a breathless grave. 

Why are the skies above, 
raining down with such violence?
Why are we the receivers, 
of such a storm of strength...?
Surely, nothing to do,
with the mocking, 
that has been done, 
at the fountains...
and wells of God. 

Fires in lands, that thirst. 
With no hope of deluge, 
to succor their souls?
Further eastward still...
in other lands, 
the plagues are loose,
in the stands. 
High rises full of death, 
to mock the power, 
they wish to steal. 
But could never hope...
to understand, 
much less wield.

The Jubilee has sounded. 
The years are counting off. 
Measure your futures, 
not by death, 
but by the clock of forever. 
It will tick by as...
you will live, 
to sing, or grieve...
eternally.  

Copyright © Ann Foster

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