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Tremors

He makes his own whirlwind
And catches me in the side
Tucks me in without my knowing
An undertow in the tide

Before I know it
He's poisoned all my days
I've no chance of knowing
What will be the final way

The skies roll in; the thunder growls
It's happening - yet again
To run for shelter , or wait it out
Til it comes to its final end

Sep may 19 2013
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Poetry.com 4 out of 5 based on 1 votes.
Shakil Ahmed Baliyavi More than 1 year ago
good
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