Amy's grandmother recently died, and she has been naturally very upset. Last night I wrote this poem in honor of this woman I have never met, but who helped shape Amy into the wonderful young woman she is now
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It used to be, back in Iowa, that whenever I did a ritual or other magick, it would rain. Which was no coincidence because Iowa air hoards water like a miser hoards money. So it was like the magick shook loose the water into rain
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