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The Abode of Clouds by Vedika Mandapati

No room for brown, The soil is deep red, Bright and dull at once, Like blood of the Earth The blood covered, With the widest array of  Greens, seemingly shimmering In the bright rays that slip through No room for smog, The skies are barely visible, Through the shifting clouds, Comfortable in their abode The clouds separating Into wisps, thin as sticks Flit into man's abode As though it is their own Comfortable in their surroundings, Challenged by a deeper need, They slip into our homes, Our minds, our souls Not damaging anything per say, Bringing with them a chilling, Rude awakening to the cold, As they enter our abode -Vedika Mandapati

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