Prairie Poetry   
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Thunder teases heartlessly,
making sultry promises
it doesn't keep.
Lightning flicks seductive tongues
against my bedroom wall
and then retreats —
while clouds, grown fat with moisture,
hang heavy with intent.
We wait for rain that doesn't fall —
doesn't
fall.

 
   
  Naomi B. Patterson
   
  Copyright © 2003 Naomi B. Patterson
   
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