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Thick walls of blackened day,
Late afternoons sun now smothered.
Soon, soon the rusty shanty town,
With its coat of ochred dust,
Soon all shall turn to earthy mush,
The mud will slide down the rolling plains,
Further flattening the red ridges,
And will the iron, corrugated, now melt.
As the darkened day’s storm approaches,
Torrents will flow in inky darkness,
And the slight tinge of green will fade,
Fade into the deafening defeat from above.
The skies will now reign over earth,
The inconstant battering the constant.

Now another world away,
Where the ocean meets a coastal town,
The Yeoman guards will shiver,
As the ocean pours up into the sky,
And down upon them ‘gain in a flood.
The dark merges onto nights sky,
Only the dampness in the air,
Signals the hidden storm clouds.
The pale angels of an idle dream,
With long outstretched ebony fingers,
Will caress the storms arrival,
And bask in its troubled depths,
And allow their minds sorrows,
To be lifted up and fall again.