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    Listen to the thunder,
    listen to it's sound,
    a tale ever lasting,
    of the lightning and the ground.

    From the pounding rain,
    that washes ever more,
    that whittles the tallest mountain,
    into hill or tor.

    And so the storms have tales,
    of what they've seen before,
    from the many battles of mankind,
    and the deaths they foresaw.

    So I sit here,
    taking in their stories,
    learning all I can,
    waiting for your return,
    so I can hold your hand.