Twister
It started as a vortex in the sky,
Which slowly dipped its finger to the ground,
And pointed out the souls that it would buy.
Then as it howled and twisted round and round,
It scribed their names in headlines stark and bold.
Those unknown names would soon become renowned.
Yet granting no exceptions young and old
Were vanquished into memories and lore,
Just stories that would henceforth be retold.
Still, something grew that wasn't there before,
Defiance of our frail mortality.
With unbowed heads in Joplin and in Moore
They built again, they faced reality,
For hope, it seems, was no fatality.
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