Tom Beauge

April 24, 2000 - Paris
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After the rain, the sun

Morning brume, sunrise dew, and drizzling rain cascades,
It gushes down my cheeks, mixing with my salty tears
Guiding me through the darkness, its glaring light fades
For the evanescent moon slowly disappears

Yet darkness is brief and the sun is never far
Piercing through the clouds, revealing a daffodil
Dancing in the breeze like an ever-shining star
And here it stands lambent, on the small greensward hill

Lighting up the washed-out colourless meadow
Like a canvas painting itself, colours appear.
Thus shall flowers bloom and viridescent buds grow
A speckle of paint, and shall there emerge a deer

May the flamboyant flowers, the greeny prairie
Remind us of why rain was so necessary.
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