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The Hurricane
Past the mailbox that looks like a house, Over the fragrant marigolds, Past the plastic siding, Through the brass knockered door, Beyond the soft hands, Inside the wooly sweater, Around the fatherly smile, Past the well-read glasses, It still lives; The hurricaine. A young man's eagerness, A soldier's adventure, An adolescent's lust. An eager eye to the future, The sound of a battle, The hard graft of a working life Past the coffee stained teeth, Under the white hairs, Outside the warm hug, The hurricane still turns.