The rain is trickling down the window pane,
and blurs my view of everything outside.
Unsure if light and truth still yet remain,
I must keep hope the sun will cease to hide.

Throughout the storm I hear the creaking groan
of branches burdened by the howling wind.
I feel no other truth save that alone,
and cling to storms as hope that storms may end.

Eventually the clouds will part away,
the sun will glitter through the tear-stained glass.
The afternoon will show once more as day--
I know that storms will never cease to pass.

Without this token, hope I cannot keep;
the truthful noise that fits my heart to weep.

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