Lightning Strikes

Some years ago, I sought and found

– with skill and time and hapless luck –

a golden hill, where lightning struck.

Now Winter’s frosts have covered over

with ice and snow, where once was clover.

Through sands of time, where wind has swept,

a word is blown, a whisper kept,

a name etched in to the bluish ice.

Yes, lightning strikes, but never twice.

The End

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