I'm writing this on a cold dark day,

With the sound of thunder out to play,

Reverberating around the nearby roofs

Like the stampede of ten thousand hoofs;

While its weeping relative - the rain...

Streams across the window pane

Washing away the city grime

Cleansing in its own good time

But this much I feel inclined to say:

I wouldn't have it any other way.

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