Gazing up at the unforgiving clouds,
The ones that had once been fluffy white but are no more.
The clouds that had once been pictures in the sky,
But they were, and are, more than that. ...
Where river and ocean meet in a great tempestuous
frown,
Beyond the bar, where on the dunes the white-
capped rollers break;
Above, one windmill stands forlorn on the arid,
grassy down:
I will set my sail on a stormy day and cross the
bar and seek
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