Rain

For seven days and seven nights our rain would go on our thatch that held our young crows captive.Their black was almost washed to gray and the thatch looked a rice field  sprouting last year’s left over rice.

We have made up the rain stories.Our farmers were taken off turbans and the light was not sunny yellow,only eerie ultra violet rays touching the bellies that had no raging fires.

Like the girls we have made it all up.

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