Her life is like a stormy sky
Bereft of incandescent love
You know not yet what will make her cry
Her brooding turbulence contained above
She’s learned to no longer trust her brazen emotions
Instead they began to ferment, leaving only apathy behind
Relying solely upon her troubled notions
She escapes to better times inside her comatose mind
As she nears the grave, her last words bequeathed to you are these:
“Whatever y0ur sorrow, whatever your pain,
There will be rainbows after the rain.”
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