Rain Whisperer
In the quiet of my aging bones,
I can sense the rain’s impending arrival,
A symphony of ache and anticipation,
As if the clouds have confided in me.
My joints, weathered and wise,
Tighten like the knots in old trees,
And I smile, knowing nature’s secret:
Raindrops dance before they fall.
In the rhythm of my arthritic pulse,
I becomes a living barometer,
A bridge between earth and sky,
Listening to the whispers of raindrops.
So when the first droplets kiss the ground,
I nod, grateful for this ancient bond,
For in my pain lies a meteorological truth:
The world weathers storms, and so do I.
ms
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