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When you speak of climate change with vigor and poise,
I do dream of that time it springs in autumn
But autumns in spring. Like on the day
it should stop raining; And the clouds
began to sink in me; I couldn't think of something more,
But a twist and shift. Like the day
I was buried under the weather,
And the sun was piercing into my bones,
I couldn't think of anything else
But a change in patterns.
Today.. I was blinded by mist and fog
Beaten by raining clouds
Burnt by the piercing sun...
I wished I was never here.
edited version
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