When a day begins with thunder
That can split the sky asunder,
What you, in your wildest story dreams do not expect
Is to later find you’re under
Such a blue sky that you wonder
How the then and now can possibly connect.
Mother Nature, though, is fickle
And her fancies she may tickle
With a shower, a tornado or a storm.
For if rain is just a trickle,
It would not be worth a nickel;
Nature much prefers the novel to the norm.
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