When All Is Damp

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In these days of deluge,
When all is damp,
The match does not burn,
The towels hang from their hooks like sodden dreads,
And I am simply another rivulet in a crowded stream,
It is all I can do to resist the current of complacency.

The leaf swirls in the eddy.
The orphaned branch loses its way.
The weatherman calls for a dry weekend.

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