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a poem by Rania D.

Have you ever thought that the sky at night

sleeps like she’s a person?
The moon is a lamp on a nightstand
that illuminates her pitch black curtain.
She tucks and snugs so comfortably.
The clouds are her cozy quilt—
a perfect knit of splendid hues.
The softest you ever felt.
At dawn she rises,
and wears a garment
tailored by the sun
of crimson, coral,
copper and red.
The best of light’s spectrum,
but she really glows
in certain clothes.
She flaunts on summer days:
a sapphire gown,
golden rays for a crown,
with embroidered clouds for lace
when she’s consumed
by sorrow and gloom.
She wraps her gray toned cloak.
"Thunder,” she shouts!
Tantrums in bouts
then weeps until all creatures soak.

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