| POETRY |
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| WAITING FOR THE STRIKE Soft beneath the cover of the wind Cooing gently Can you hear the voice of thunder? Deadly blades of lightning pierce The heart of darkness Spilling the bitter copper scent of Fear When all is sweet and dew covered and green When the dusk is a fringed shawl resting across the rolling hills When twilight whispers goodnight to the new bud leaves Still the threat remains Coiled inside the pink clouds of daybreak Blooming with the full moon rays Slapping at the shores of uncertainty With never ending waves By Sheryl McCurdy |