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No doubt it will rain again today,
As it had yesterday and the day before
And the past week.
Once a year the weather must breakdown
Like the broken-hearted and bury her face
In her cloud-pillows and weep for long gray
Days at a stretch, occasionally thundering
At the unfairness of having her heart broken
And not being the one breaking hearts instead,
Promising the next heart to break
Will not be hers.