Stephani Eaton, photo by Tanya Odom
When I was in second grade, I wrote a poem about an impending storm that pleased my dad so much that he hung it in his office. It stayed there for years.
I recently asked if he remembered what it said and he rattled off: “This dark and rainy noon will soon pass the sunset of time.”
I had to laugh at the melodrama of my seven-year-old self.
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