August 20, 2007
- Angie Nabrotzky Lassig
- Sep 13, 2020
- 1 min read
Updated: Sep 14, 2020

I caught myself during a passing storm,
I held tight, though the ropes were
wet and rough.
I dried myself in the spring breeze,
the sun warm and inviting.
How could I mis-place something
so vital?
It was a trap, a trick,
I was lulled to sleep and awakened
by the storm.
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