This space is dripping
With force in the morning fog
Amulets from above rain down
Splattering the rising mercury
Often the trucks come through
Clearing the depositories that run beneath
Fear the flood their lights cry out
If not for the cold ahead
Spirits would bloom of earth and mind
A siren calls with this dawn
These clouds seemingly months ahead
Little left to do except listen
Thump come the drops
The beating drum beats
Beneath the roofs edge.
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