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Storms
poetry by Benjamin Barrett

 

Hear them humming, mothers to their infants,
ghosts who whisper through soft-sung tunes.
Listen to the murmuring of sons and
grandsons in the classrooms and coffee
shops, around the lunchrooms and greasy-spoons,
huddled in their small unheated rooms
beneath the constant chatter of  the rain.
Listen to them sing those songs again.
Listen to the sound of thunder.