A Tailor And His Tale

A cool breeze caresses my face
The taste of rain dances on my tongue
The smell of ozone permeates my clothes
There is a rumble in the distance, a war call
The God of thunder stands his ground
With swords drawn and shields raised
The armies of the sun march forth
Soon the skies will be painted in hues of orange
The cumulus linger, they are intrigued
All the while the cirrus tug on their sleeves
“Retreat” they scream “our kingdom is falling apart at the seams”

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