A warm, yellow sun arose,
In a cloudless sky,
As I started on my way.
But Now I am pelted by rain,
My clothes are soaked,
Who knew it would storm this day.
It is the contrast I suppose,
Between what I hoped and what is, that makes each rain drop sting like a bee, and rationalizes why my umbrella is dry and cozy back at home while I am soaked to the gills as I roam.
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