My baby’s a storm. She lulls me to sleep only to rap on the windows to my dreamland. Sneaking in with the roll of the thunder and scurrying through my head, only visible in the flashes of lightning as they ignite the sky.

My baby’s a storm. She’s fierce like a lion and like the eye of the hurricane– she’s soft as a lamb’s fur. Her gentleness can be witnessed in the mist after rainfall, in the dewey morning grass. Her ferocity is seen in the flooding of the rivers and the pounding forces of rain on my tin roof.

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