The sky boils, a cauldronthat could rival any witch's
brew. Clouds curdle, s p i n
overhead, stirred by purple
bolts of lightning -- thunder
cackles. Sirensong plays a
melody I had hoped to never
hear again. The witch laughs
to see such fright. (You should
have seen the sky!) Awakened
by storm this Thursday morning:
thought I'd be with Dorothy in Oz!
(c) 2008, Karla Dorman
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