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by Tom Swiss

Hot August afternoons
When the first crackle of thunder sounded in the distance
I would whistle them out of the pool
They would head home to hide from the coming storm
Leaving me alone to watch the sky grow over all steely purple gray

The thunder pounded out a rhythm and
The trees began to dance
The wind in their leaves giving them voice to sing praises to the coming rain
A long, hissing "Yesssssss"
As they sway and turn their leaves upward in anticipation

And I
I would dance, too

And while others hid
I would laugh when the first fat warm drops fell on my bare chest


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