The Short Storm

Just built off an idea I had.

Wind picks up
Though It moves quickly
Starting to rise in a rhythm
Gracefully rising into a flow
Like a river starting again after thaw

And now it starts again - still changing
Because although all we see is a flurry of space
And there is now a movement, a swirling a tiding
The river now a wave and it flows through the sky
Then takes everything with it, then as we try 

To salvage our thoughts we struggle though
The wind has long passed, gone as they go
The wave has now crashed and spilled
On the floor, a glass of water
A teardrop
No more

The End

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