⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Thunderstorms, those
heralds of spring, roar,
casting their dark mantle
over heaven. Then they die
away to silence, and the
birds take up their charming
songs once more.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Thunderstorms, those
heralds of spring, roar,
casting their dark mantle
over heaven. Then they die
away to silence, and the
birds take up their charming
songs once more.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀