Considering Its Worth

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I made the sky myself, to fall.
The way in its demise and all,
When night was the first to call.
She danced with the rain, her shawl.
Death and demise are not the same.
As the dying clouds bled rain,
What over me but joy came?
To watch her twirling beneath the rain.
Her dance ended; gave birth to flowers.
I could’ve watched her hour after hour,
But it was now time to give the wind power,
To sweep them away for the light that would scour,
And from the sky clear the clouds, grey.
Then they surrendered to the sun that day,
Mother nature in her bed sleeps away,
After her work, after her play.
There on her pillow of earth,
Among the flowers to which she gave birth,
In the sunlight such feelings of mirth,
Dreaming of rain, she considers its worth.

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