The Weather, Man

In truth, I am the weather.
I am the wind kicking up its heels in fury.
I am a turbulent storm crashing waves against your shore.
And like the snow falling softly
Or a raindrop kisses the earth,
I, too, can wet your lips.

The erosion of rock is only water playing persistent.
The earthquake that trembles, simply shifting when asleep.

When the leaves rustle gently
And the wind whispers a name,
It is me calling sweetly,
Thinking the same.

How lovely is the sunset?
How violent is the storm?
Mother Nature has her calling and I, mine.
I will unleash,
And unwind.

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