The morning storm has ended.
After tromping through
And dumping on everything,
I can hear it walking away in the distance
While its little offspring trail behind
Splashing in the puddles.
I can’t tell, but
There may be another storm
Calling for the first one to wait up,
Imitating the bigger one
Even though everything
Is already wet.
The big storm ignores it.
It’s already rumbled through
And doesn’t look back.
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