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Flood of Tears, or Climate What?

The wind blew hard today

(It must have been a record from the looks of it).

I’d never seen an Elephant flying (it must be)

Ranting and raving that this was just a natural cycle, nothing to worry about.

A Donkey was hee-hawing that she told him so, run for the hills!

The little girl on the ground, though, was altogether a different sight.

She was completely untouched by the wind,

In the middle of this bellows;

Hair untouched, perfect calm;

Except for the rain that poured from her eyes,

Down her alabaster cheeks.

And then next to her another little girl:

Ebony touched by clear streaks of pain.

The sound of the gale was deafening.

The news trucks were there,

Chained to the ground, with 800 reporters sandbagged at the ankles,

Cutting back to more Elephants and Donkeys

Trying to make this Their Storm.

I had to wonder, from all the makeup,

Whether they had somehow tapped

Lizzy the First’s supply of leadup

For surely they must be mad.

So I plead the 2nd and shot the animals.

And the wind stopped.

The reporters left.

And all that was left was a flood of tears.

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