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There are good people,
Like mountains under gray sky.
On days I'm weak, I go to them
My tears are the rain that
is lost among their grand trees.
There are fun people,
Like wind, lightning, and waves.
On days I'm invincible, they are
Curled puffs of air,
I touch just their tips, that's enough
But there are the other days
When I'm in need of neither person.
These are days of paintings.
Storms and earth in one,
paintings of all people and things.
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