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The Storm | ||
| When a storm cuts off the pow'r, And it's dark at least an hour, One just sits to hear the crash, And to watch the lightning flash. Palms are silhouetted stark, In sporadic breaks from dark. There's no point to stir around, Nothing much inside is found. One can sit and contemplate The vicissitudes of fate And the Lord's almighty hand That is felt throughout the land. | ||
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