Some people look at rivers, writers look at the raindrops. She dropped the rag,. Threw in the towel,. Hoisted up that white flag,. Lay down a head on the pillow,. A tired sun drifts down,. A blue sky grows cloudy,. The farmer leaves his crops,. With muscles too weak to fight,. Resignation hidden just out of sight,. Fists balled in anger,. For an eye blink,. The warmth of anxiety,. The cool breeze of numbness,. A bloodied towel on the floor,.

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