Why the sky wanted me as its muse
I cannot say
I’d not wish to betray its lifelong, headstrong whimsy?
In its own whirlwind of Days, I was its only constant?
Pressure, and I the soft voice that reduced the storm of it all?
Mercy, it contained and it wanted to rain upon me?
Surely it cannot be a great love for me. Or…can it be?
On the possibilities, I pretend to opine
But I cannot say
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